


The Snowball Effect

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM References, Emotional, Explicit Language, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memories, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With things recently going from bad to worse for the team, will this simple mission -- with its extremely unwanted 'blast from the past' -- prove to be the final straw?</p>
<p>*** Follows on from One Step At A Time ***</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snowball Effect

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Set after One Step At A Time - and, yes, you do need to have read that first in order for it to make sense  
> ~ Minor, canon death. (Think about it!)  
> ~ Minor references to past abuse & BDSM - please take this into consideration if it's a trigger for you  
> ~ I feel as though I need to say more about this, but... I can't put into words the mood (suffocating? relentless? harsh reality? depressive?) it's meant to convey. So... Perhaps just give it a go?
> 
> And...  
> ... to everyone who has ever left kudos on any of my fics, I thank you! It really does make a difference.

================  
The Snowball Effect  
by TalithaX  
================

 

A discrete knock on the suite's main door rousing me from my research, I lean forward and, after placing the iPad down on the coffee-table, am about to stand up in order to answer it when Will materialises from Jane's room and makes a beeline for the door.

“It's okay,” he states, giving me a curiously unreadable look over his shoulder as he passes the sofa. “I suspect it's for me anyway.”

“Fine.” Shrugging, I retrieve the iPad and switch it back on as Will, to both my instant and decided bemusement, opens the door and, with a murmured, “Thanks,” takes a black suit bag from a man I vaguely recognise as The Dorchester's concierge. Finding this, Will suddenly feeling in need of a new suit, to be just a little bit on the peculiar, not to mention downright unexpected, side of things, I let the tablet power back off again and sit up a little straighter. “Don't tell me, let me guess,” I drawl, watching Will as he carries the bag over to the dining table and carefully drapes it across it, “you've decided you need to be more in character while you monitor proceedings from here and want to play dress up like the rest of us.”

“Actually... There's been a change of plans,” Will announces somewhat matter-of-factly as he unzips the bag and pulls out a pristine black tuxedo. Holding it up, he turns around to face me and, with a small shrug, adds, “Courtesy of your date-slash-personal-assistant cancelling on you at the last moment, your... plus one... is now going to have to be your accountant. I know, I know. You don't like last minute changes anymore than I do, but...”

“Jane?” I interrupt, choking back a sigh not of annoyance but of – helpless – concern as, dropping the iPad down on to the sofa, I stand up and walk over to join Will by the dining table. “Is she okay?”

“That, I would say, depends very much on your definition of okay,” Will replies, glancing towards the closed door of Jane's room as he carefully places the suit back into the bag and takes a seat in the closest chair. “You weren't to know, hell, none of us were to know, but...” Trailing off, he sighs and looks up at me with an expression of obvious worry etched all over his face. “Apparently, if we'd managed to get that vacation time we should have had a couple of months ago, that is, she was going to meet Trevor here in London and, because she's never seen a show in the West End, they'd been going to dress up and, you know, go all out to make a night of it. Only...”

“Shit!” Following Will's lead in taking a seat at the table, I rub my hands over my face and, slumping back in the chair, gaze up at the ceiling. “She should have said something,” I mutter, albeit redundantly as Will knows as well I do that as it's not in any of our natures to make a fuss or speak up when we've been allocated a task we'd really prefer not to have to do and that Jane, despite her raw grief over the past few months, is certainly no exception to this rule. In fact, how Will managed to get her discomfort over tonight's mission out of her is nothing short of a miracle all in itself as the last time I saw her, which would have to be all of three quarters of an hour ago now, she seemed perfectly fine with it. Then again though, this... is... Will... we're talking about here. Will, whose observation skills in regards to the emotions of those – he cares about – around him is far better than mine will ever be, and who has recently been doing what he can to make Jane's well being his number one priority in life, so...

Really, it probably shouldn't surprise me at all. Where I saw what I wanted to see, Will took the time to see the proof and, once he was aware of it, reacted in a way to both protect Jane and ensure that the mission went ahead more or less as planned. If it had been left to me I'd have just pushed ahead to the possible detriment of our team mate, if not the mission itself, and despite being slightly tetchy with myself for having been so focussed on our goal that I missed Jane's reluctance to play the part I'd handed to her, what I am, however, is glad that Will was able to pick up on it. While, yes, the mission has to, as always, come first, what it doesn't have to be is so firmly set in stone that it proves to be to the disservice of any member of the team. If changes need to be made along the line to accommodate the needs of those I'm fortunate enough to work with then, simply put, so be it. 

“Just... Damn! If I'd known...”

“You weren't to know,” Will interjects, reaching over and placing his hand on my knee. “Hey... If it helps any, I'd missed it too and had just been taking her usual... whine... about having to dress up at face value.”

“Then...” Lowering my head, I glance over at Will and give him an expectant look. “If you'd missed it too, how did you manage...”

“Given that I found her close to tears as she looked at her dress for this evening,” he murmurs, giving my knee a squeeze, “it was a little hard for her to... uh... put the mask back in to place once it had so well and truly slipped. She'd still do it, of course she would, but I... I didn't think it would be fair on her and that, as I couldn't see any reason... not... to, stepping in and taking her place was the least I could do. I mean, she can run recognition software back here while I...”

“Do exactly the same thing, only... without... the software at the gallery,” I finish with a nod as I place my hand over Will's and press down on it it. “Look... You're right in that I don't like change, especially not when the stakes are so high, but... It's fine. If having to dress up is going to bring back memories of... uh... what should have been, then I absolutely think you've done the right thing and that she's better off staying here.” Dredging up a smile, I look Will up and down and, although it's just about the last thing I feel like doing, wink at him. “Besides, it's not exactly as though having to have you, all dressed up in a tux, no more and no less, by my side is any great hardship on my part.”

“You know, that's what I love about you, Ethan,” Will retorts with a half smile as he leans forward and plants a fleeting kiss on my cheek, “your innate ability to find silver linings in a sky otherwise full of dark clouds. Now... You're really okay with this, yeah? I know I should have asked you first, but...”

“I'm really okay with it,” I confirm, lifting my hand away from Will's only to gently cup it around his cheek. “If I'd have caught any indication that Jane wasn't as okay with her role as she was pretending to be then, trust me, I would have made the same call. Our covers are such that it probably makes as much sense for me to take my accountant to the show as it did my personal assistant, and... You were right to intervene. I...” Pausing, I stroke my fingers down the side of Will's face before sitting back and sighing. “I just wish the circumstances were different, you know...”

“Don't we all,” Will declares grimly as, glancing at his watch, he stands up and tilts his head in the direction of Jane's room. “ Now... I think I'd better go in and bring Jane up to speed before getting ready, don't you?”

“Seeing as I think the time has come for me to get a move on as well, I think you're right,” I reply, standing up and, after pushing my chair in, starting to walk towards the suite's main bedroom. “Just... Reassure her that I have no issues with the change, yeah? Things are... fucked enough... without her thinking she's messed anything up when she hasn't at all.”

“Will do.”

“I don't know, maybe if you're feeling... really... lucky, you might even want to try to get it through to her that she could have spoken up herself, that... I understand.”

“Yeah... Now I think you're taking things perhaps a bit too far.”

“Then... Just do your best to get it through to her that I'm okay with it.”

“That I can do, and... Uh... Thanks.”

Coming to a stop by the bedroom door, I turn around and find Will – effectively mirroring my position – standing by Jane's door and gazing back at me. “Thank me?” I shake my head and shrug. “What for? It's not as though I've done anything.”

“Actually, as you didn't make an issue out of the fact I changed your plans without first discussing it with you or seeking your permission, you did,” Will replies, flashing me a sad little smile as, without waiting around to see how I might respond, he opens the door and disappears into Jane's room.

Sighing, even though I know no-can hear me and that I'm basically only wasting my breath, I step in to the room and, instead of grabbing my tuxedo from the cupboard and starting to get dressed like I know I should, sink down on to the edge of the mattress and bury my head in my hands.

Just...

Damn.

Seriously. Just damn everything to hell and back.

I'm just...

… Tired.

Tired of the grief, and of hardly anything ever going right, and, to put it bluntly, of just keeping it together. I'm both tired... and sick... of it all. Of pushing on, of not being able to take a break, of... the sheer relentlessness of it all. I'm not injured, or suffering any form of physical ailment, but on the behalf of the rest of my team, the three people who mean the world to me, I've just about had enough. We need, for a number of various reasons, a break and I think the time may have finally come for me to draw a line in the sand and to inform the Powers That Be that... this is it, and... enough is enough. We're not automatons and, the past three months having been one crap event after enough, we more than deserve some time off to recharge.

The current mission, to both identify and track the buyer of a formula for an airborne disease that makes Chimera look like nothing more than the common cold, was meant, I think, as something of an acknowledgement for how bad things have been recently. While the stakes, allowing the formula to the worst form of bioterrorism the world has ever known to escape in to the hands of someone who would actually be willing to use it, are as high as any mission we've completed, what we're actually having to do to achieve our goal is close to a proverbial walk in the park. The disease having been created accidentally in a laboratory in Malaysia, we know that a QR code containing the only remaining copy of the formula has been smuggled out of the country attached to the back of a Jean-Michael Basquiat painting that is going to be auctioned off tomorrow night from an art gallery in Covent Garden. We also know that an unfortunate accident in the laboratory saw the disease escaping and killing, within three hours, the entire staff employed at the facility and that, having been – quite rightly so – alarmed by this, the Malaysian Government acted swiftly by ordering all records pertaining to it to be destroyed immediately. One enterprising military official, however, managed to get his hands on the formula and, too dazzled by the dollar signs he could see flashing before his eyes to be bothered by the thought of the hideous loss of life it could cause, quickly sold it on to an emergent arms dealer with a side line in art appreciation by the name of Carlos Diego who, seeing even more dollar signs than the lowly official did, is now offering it to the highest bidder.

While we know all of this for fact, and have even neutralised the threat by stepping in and swapping the QR code for one containing a fake formula while the painting was en route from Diego's Madrid estate, we're now in London in order to monitor both the interest in the formula and just who, out of the murky underworld that thinks nothing of profiting from the loss of life, it ultimately ends up going home with it.

As missions go, given that the tricky part of ensuring that the formula is safe is already done and dusted, this one's now borderline simple. Tonight, the art gallery is holding a cocktail party for prospective buyers to inspect the pieces of modern – Warhol, Dali, Koons, Pollock, even a number of Picasso sketches – art they're offering for sale at tomorrow night's auction and all we have to do is be there in order to hopefully put names to faces. My cover being that of a wealthy, art-collecting plastic surgeon from Los Angeles who just happens to be travelling with his own entourage of both his personal assistant and accountant, I'd been going to attend the cocktail party with my PA, Jane, while Will monitored the guests from a live feed back at the hotel, and that, really, was all there was to this evening's plans. Benji, playing – much to his clearly, not to mention repetitively, stated disgust – the role of a waiter, is already in place at the art gallery, we have access to both every CCTV camera in the area as well as the gallery's own security system, and...

That's about it, really.

We go in, identify persons of interest, spend tomorrow working up dossiers on them, and then, once we've hopefully got a good enough idea of just who it is we're going to have to watch, go back for the actual auction in order to see who of the lucky contenders is not only the successful bidder but who also, as an added bonus, scores the coveted number one spot on the IMF Arms Dealers of Interest list.

And, again, that's pretty much it.

I get, although I don't know whether to laugh or be offended by it, the impression that the PTB think it's all a bit of a... treat, or... reward... of some sort. Get dressed up, spend a couple of nights living the high life in The Dorchester and schmoozing around a world renowned art gallery, and, seriously, that's about it in a nutshell. The threat level is negligible, and while it's still, because we need to be able to keep track of just exactly who it is that happens to be interested in a bio-weapon of this calibre, of the utmost importance to track the buyer of the formula, as the formula itself is already safely ensconced back at HQ, it's all just...

A non event.

Basically.

And... No. I don't view it as much of a fucking treat at all. If anything, given the events of the last few months, it's like adding insult to already smarting injury. I don't want to play dress-up and feign an appreciate in art while all the time keeping count of all the scum bags who think, hey, being able to unleash a deadly virus on their enemies is something they'd quite like to be able to spend their – not so – hard earned cash on. Nor do I want to be given token gesture, surveillance missions in lieu of a long overdue break just because we happened to be the team closest to London. While I'm at it, I...

… I just don't want to be doing this.

Period.

It's still of enough importance to make it worth our while, and, okay, fine, it's certainly easy and as close to a no-brainer as a mission is ever likely to get, but, as much as it might pain me to admit, I'm just over it.

Over playing team leader, over keeping both... it... and the team together all in the name of IMF when all I want to do is take a step back and give everyone a break, and, really, I'm just over it in general.

It's...

This.

This is what I do, what... we... do, and we're good at it. The best, even. We live, breathe, and devote a too great a percentage of our lives to IMF. It's just what we do, what we've... chosen... to do. I'm proud to be an IMF agent and I know that, regardless of how great the cost may occasionally be, that, for the greater good at least, every single sacrifice we make is ultimately worth it. No-one's holding a gun to our heads, we place ourselves in these situations willingly and, while the world at large might be oblivious to the very important difference we make, we always play our parts to the best of our ability.

I can't, not in all seriousness and at this particular point in my life anyway, imagine doing anything else.

It's what I do.

What... we... do.

Only...

Right now, job satisfaction is coming a very poor second to every other little head fuck that's been our lot for the past three months. If it hasn't been one thing it's been another. Incorrect intel, interference from local agencies, equipment coming over all unreliable at the worst possible moment, at least one of us – or, in the case of the epic fuck-up that went down in Cape Town, all four us – ending up with an enforced stint in a hospital bed during each mission, frayed tempers, hash words that are always regretted the exact second that they're voiced, tears, heart breaking grief and the knowledge that there's not a single fucking thing you, or anyone else, can do about it...

These last few months, they've had it all and then some.

I remember thinking, as Will and I drove away from the farm after having spent the weekend there celebrating Great Aunt May's one-hundredth birthday, that as great as the short break had been – and, to my surprise, it really had been far better than I'd been expecting it to be – how much I was looking forward to just getting straight back in to the thick of things. Our time on the old farm, while relaxing and full of both good times and memories, had just reinforced to me how different my life was to that of my family's and how I could no more live their lives than they could live mine. I was glad, especially seeing as I'd once made my peace with never going back to the farm after my mother's funeral, to have seen everyone again, and I particularly enjoyed being able to introduce Will to both my family and, in a sense, my old life, but it just wasn't for me. Cows and harvesters and all the talk of rotating crops and market prices, it was like an entirely different world to me, one that I couldn't really engage with at all. Getting to leave it all behind, and knowing that there was a mission waiting for the team back in D.C., was actually something of a huge relief and I could hardly wait to just get going again.

Foolishly, I'd even thought at the time that, as breaks go, I'd had enough rest and relaxation to last me for the rest of the year and was just good to go. Time off, or so I'd done a pretty good job of convincing myself of over the years, was something I could more or less live without. A few days here or there lurking around home or, if I was feeling as though I really had to get away from it all, climbing – as Will likes to put it, 'stupidly high structures that no-one in their right mind would so much as contemplate wanting to get to the top of, let alone without availing themselves to anything as useful or as sensible as a harness' – cliffs or the like just for the sheer hell of it, had always been enough of a break for me and I couldn't really see any reason for that to change. 

Let's face it, my team consists of three of my best friends, one of which who just also happens to be both my lover and the most important person in the entire world to me, I love, and generally derive a great sense of satisfaction out of what I do, and... You know, why wouldn't I want to work? I've never been much of a fan of inactivity and can't just sit around quite contentedly reading a book like Will can, and, to put it as simply as I possibly can, I was just happy with my lot in life. I get to spend each and every day with the people I care most about, doing crazy shit that I'm good at and, dare I say it, actually enjoy, and...

Life was good.

The team was good. Getting to spend time with my family, not to mention getting to sleep in my grandparent's old bed with Will – once he got over all his random doubts during our first night, that is – was good. Firmly believing that there wasn't anything we couldn't do if we put our collective minds to it was, you guessed it, good.

It...

All of it.

It was just good.

We were happy. All of us, for our own reasons, were happy and content, and although we never said it, we thought we had it all.

Then...

Things started to go wrong. Just small things every so often that were more an inconvenience or an annoyance than they were a – 'oh God, we're so screwed' – huge problem. I didn't like them, but, having no real choice in the matter, I just took them in my stride. Plans changed, wounds were tended to, many expletives were – loudly – shared, and life, with yet a few more bruises to colour it, just went on. To be honest, in a strictly personal sense it didn't, so long as we ultimately achieved our desired outcome, even really bother me that much. While it would be a bit of stretch to say that I enjoyed it, I'm good at thinking on my feet, have always just done what I've had to do, and missions, regardless of how nice and easy they might look on paper, have never had a habit of running completely to plan, so...

Shit happens.

The problem, however, is that... shit... effects everyone differently, and just because I wasn't bothered by it didn't mean that everyone else in the team felt the same way. And, okay, I'll admit it. This, seeing my friends struggle to just brush it off and move on like I could, bothered me. It really did. I could talk the talk and get them back on track again but, somehow, it just never felt like enough. It didn't matter how much I might have wanted to, I couldn't make them feel any better and could only lecture them on putting it all behind and moving on. We persevered though, as both friends and a team that had a task to do, because we had to. To everyone's credit giving up and simply throwing in the towel was never mentioned and, with a few less smiles and a lot less laughs, we just kept going. We picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and just did what we had to do.

I still felt oddly helpless though, like I wasn't doing enough for the very people I credit for giving me back my love of both life and putting my ass on the line for IMF. Sure, I bought treats – chocolate for Will, bourbon for Jane, random bits of sci-fi tat for Benji – whenever I could, and I doubled my own workload when I thought it would be as much to the benefit of the team as it would to the mission, but, I don't know, it just never seemed enough. Not even the successful completion of the missions was making anyone feel any better and because of this, for perhaps the very first time in my career, I started to think that I was wrong and that there was a point to taking breaks after all. Although I felt as though I could go on indefinitely, it was clear that the others couldn't and this, in turn, started to niggle at me in a way that fuck-up after fuck-up never could. Missions going to shit I could handle. Seeing my friends struggle to go on day after day though? Yeah. Not so much. It even reached a point where I put in a request to the Secretary for some time, an entire fortnight, actually, off as it was clear to me something was going to give if we didn't have a break.

And...

Something did give.

Something...

… Big.

Only it wasn't on our team.

No.

It was on Stanton's team.

And it happened to Trevor Hanaway. 

Jane's...

… Trevor Hanaway.

Her lover was killed during a mission on the opposite side of the world to where we were situated at the time, and things, they...

Just well and truly went to shit from that point onwards.

Our own mission being at a critical point, we couldn't return to D.C. in time for his funeral. Hell, we couldn't even take the time to grieve and just had to push the fact that one of our own – that... the man Jane still hadn't been able to admit to herself that she loved – had been killed while just doing his job, out of our heads.

We soldiered on because we had to and, to this day, six weeks on, we're still soldiering on. The Secretary having agreed to my request for vacation time prior to Hanaway being so cruelly shot down, I thought that the timing couldn't have been more – unfortunately – perfect, but Jane wouldn't have a bar of it. Her personality being so similar to mine in so many ways, instead of wanting the time to be on her own and to mourn the loss of her lover in private, all she wanted to do was throw herself in to work. Will and Benji, they both tried to convince her otherwise, that, even if it was only for a couple of days, she could do with a break, but, again, she just wasn't interested. It was either close herself off and work, or... nothing.

Nothing, as in... fall head first in to, and be held captive by, her grief.

She didn't even have to say so in as many words as I could just see it in her blank eyed expression. Revenge being out of the equation as Stanton himself had taken care of Hanaway's killer, she knew there wasn't anything that she could do for him and just wanted to keep going, to... be busy, and, most importantly, to not have the time to just sit around and dwell on what could have, and what possibly... should... have been.

So...

Quashing our own considerable concerns and doubts, straight back to work we went. Everyone was still in need of a break but, for Jane's sake, each and everyone of us put our own needs aside and just pushed on. Benji may have been a little quieter than normal, and I may have held Will even tighter than usual in bed every night, but...

We kept going.

And things, possibly because our minds weren't always on the task at hand, kept going to shit.

If we weren't worrying about Jane, who was disguising her grief by being even more gung-ho than normal, we were trying not to think about how...

… It could happen to any of us.

At any time.

Hanaway was a highly trained and incredibly competent agent. He knew what he was doing as much as any of us do. Yet...

He lost his life during a mission.

He was just doing his job, and... he died. Just as... Will was simply doing his job when he was abducted, and effectively abandoned by IMF, in Berlin. To most sane people these sort of things should come as an unacceptable risk for just earning a pay check, yet, to us, it's simply par for the course.

Everyone dies at some point. It's just one of those inescapable facts of life. We've all got to go some time and there's not an agent out there who doesn't know that, by doing the job we've chosen to devote our lives to, there's every chance we'll end up dying in the field. It's not a nice thought, for sure, but it's just how it is. 

That said, it's not one we like being reminded of. Knowing we're not immortal is one thing, knowing, however, that one of our own has lost their life doing pretty much exactly the same thing we're in the process of doing though, well... That just makes it all a bit more real. Hanaway lost his life just by doing his job, so... What's to say the same thing couldn't happen to any one of us? Luther... Jane... Benji...

Will.

Myself.

Anyone of us could die at any point and while, fine, we might all know this because it's just how it is, no-one likes being reminded of it, as...

… It just makes it all too real.

Doubt creeps in. As does an almost all consuming desire to protect those you care about. Instead of just going about our business as we should be, we second guess ourselves and spend as much time worrying about the fate of others as we do concentrating on what we're doing. Our minds wander, we can't sleep for the never ending array of – 'what ifs' and, in my case, 'should anything happen to Will I don't know what I'll do' – thoughts running through our heads, emotions run high, and, to put it bluntly, it just sucks.

Then again, right at the moment everything fucking sucks.

Just...

Nothing's working as it should. Jane pretends that everything's fine, Benji's slowly losing the plot as he attempts to both live up to what he thinks my expectations of him are and to just... be there... for Jane, and Will, to his own detriment, is allowing himself to be pulled in all directions at once. He wants... to be able to do his job, to be there for... everyone, not just Jane, in any way that he can, and he wants to keep it, his own – usually quite dominating in themselves – issues, together himself. And he can't, he just can't keep going on like he has been. Unable to wave a magic wand and put everyone – and everything – back together again, he's running himself ragged trying to be there for all of us, and I hate it.

I just hate it.

I hate the mess we're all in, I hate that Jane's lost someone she loved, and I hate not being able to do a single fucking thing – other than to provide the cold and clinical voice of leadership – about any of it. These people are my friends, in many ways they're actually... more... family to me than my relatives by blood are, and not feeling as though I'm able to do anything for them while they're hurting is eating away at me.

I'm just tired of all of it and I think, I really do, that the time has finally come to speak up and, once this mission is done and dusted, push the issue of everyone taking a vacation. I mean, we can't just keep going on like we have been. We just can't. Jane in particular mightn't like it, but somehow, and I don't care what it takes, I just have to convince her that it's as much for her benefit as it is everyone else's. If that fails, then... It's not something I like to think about, let alone store away in the back of my head to be drawn on should it come to it, but I honestly think that if I present it to her in terms of Benji and Will, who she loves like brothers and would do absolutely anything for, both needing a break far more than she, or even for that matter I do, does, she'll reluctantly see the light and just give in. In other words, she'll push on if left to her own devices, but if she thinks it's in the best of interests of others, then... Fine. Whatever. Have it your way.

Well...

Hopefully that's what will happen.

If it doesn't, then, shit, I don't know. Maybe I'll just have to send Will in to try to talk some sense in to her. She generally listens to him better than she does to me anyway as he's far more patient than I am and never comes across, even if it's far from my actual intention, as though he's only there to deliver a lecture.

But...

I'll, or as the case may end up being, he'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Until then...

The show, however tedious and unrelenting it might be, must go.

Sighing, I lift my head and am just contemplating getting up in order to retrieve my tux when Will, carrying the suit bag and looking no more enthused by what's to come than I feel, walks into the room and gives me a weary look.

“This is you getting dressed, huh?” he mutters without so much as a hint of humour in his voice as he places the bag on the bed before taking a seat next to me and promptly draping his arm around my shoulders. “You know, I hate to say this,” he continues, gently resting the side of his head against mine, “I really do, but... You look like I feel.”

“So, you too are feeling on top of the world, huh?” I retort wryly as, never being one to miss an opportunity, however brief it may be, to hold Will any way that I can, I slide my arm around his waist and pull him a little closer.

“On top of the world?” he murmurs with a soft sigh as he both relaxes in to my embrace and curls his hand around my thigh. “You know, that's... not... exactly how I would have put it, myself.”

“Raring to go?” I offer, choosing to err on the side of facetiousness because, well, I can. That, and it's better than falling down the hole of cold, hard honesty.

“Uh...”

“Full of beans, then?”

“Yeah.” Rolling his eyes, Will snorts back muffled laughter and kisses my cheek. “That's the one. I... Sorry, sorry. Make that, we're just full of beans and...”

“Raring to go?” I interject, swivelling around so that I can use my free hand to stroke my fingers along Will's cheek and jaw. “I mean, hey... I know I am.”

“Mmm... You look it, too...” Sighing again, Will leans in to my touch and, biting down on his bottom lip, gives me a troubled look. “Actually... Ethan... What I did... Changing tonight's mission like I did, you... uh... You're okay with it, yeah? I know I should have asked first, but... Jane. When I saw how hard she was finding just the... thought... of having to get dressed up and go out, I... I just had to do something. I know... I know I should have...”

“It's fine,” I state with an unbothered shrug as, keeping my hand cupped around Will's cheek, I rest my forehead against his. “You thought on your feet because you wanted to help Jane and, trust me, Will, I'm fine with it.” I'd be more... fine... with it if he hadn't felt compelled to seek my reassurance and had just left it as presenting it to me as a done deal out in the main room, but that's just Will. It doesn't matter that he'll have both thought everything through and convinced himself that it wouldn't have a negative impact on the mission before doing it as, again, doubting himself, and wanting to make sure that what he's done is okay is just... Will all over. It shouldn't be, as there's no doubting his abilities, and God knows he's a truly brilliant agent, but no matter how hard I try, how hard we all try, actually, we just can't get it through to him that he's not to doubt himself, that he's as – imperative – important to the team as any of us are. 

Will shouldn't, especially seeing as he has absolutely no reason to, doubt himself, but he does. He worries about how people view him, he worries about doing the wrong thing possibly because he still thinks there's a chance he'll be punished for it, and he worries constantly about letting us down somehow because he's...

… Useless.

Worthless. Nothing. Stupid. Only good for one thing

He's none of these things, of course he's not, but it just... lingers. The doubt that he missed – and given that the entirety of the IMF also missed it as well, it's not as though he has any reason to take it personally at all – something... questionable... in Salter, the feelings of worthlessness installed in him by all the men who used him as though he was nothing, the fear that he's just not good enough to be part of the team... 

I look at Will and not only do I see the man I happen to love in way that not so long ago I wouldn't even have thought possible, but what I also see is someone I'm extremely proud to know. As far as I can tell anyway, there isn't anything he can't do if he puts his mind to it and although me telling him this has almost become something of a joke between us, I really do think he's brilliant. He's an excellent agent, a genuinely nice person to be around, one of the very few people I just happen to trust with my life, and, without a word of exaggeration, I can't imagine life without him.

Getting this through to him, however... Well. Let's just say it's a work in progress and leave it at that.

“But...” Pulling his head back from mine, Will frowns and, clearly not feeling up to looking me in the eye, gazes down at his lap. “I still should have asked you first. You're in charge of the...”

“You thought it all out first, yes?”

“What? I... Of course.”

“You thought about it from all angles before mentioning the change to Jane?”

“Yes. Of course. As my role was to identify persons of interest I knew that I could do it just as well from inside the gallery as I could from watching the footage come up on a screen, and... Seeing as your cover is that of a foreigner not known to anyone, I also thought that it wouldn't raise any eyebrows if you were to attend the party with your... male... accountant as opposed to your... female... PA, so...”

“So you thought of everything, then?”

“I like to think that I covered all the important points, yes. If, however...”

Accepting, even if it is something of a case of better late than never, that this is one of those conversations that isn't going to go anywhere soon, I once again cup Will's cheek in my palm and, after very gently turning his head until he's reluctantly facing me, silence him with a moist, drawn out kiss. To my relief, this does the trick – as it usually does – and he kisses me back without hesitation.

And...

… For an all too brief moment absolutely nothing else matters. Not the mission, or Will's doubt or Jane's grief, just...

This.

The kiss.

The feel of my lover's lips pressed against mine, and the pleasure realised by – both the warmth of his body and his scent filling my senses – the simple fact of him just being here. With me.

Alive.

Loss, or in some cases just... change... effects everyone in different ways. Some you can see, and some are buried so deep inside that a casual observer wouldn't even be able to see any difference in you. Jane, although she strives to present a stoic façade, wears her loss like a shroud. Not having been on his team leaving her unable to blame herself for not having been able to do something to save him, she blames herself instead for both not having made the most of their time together and for not having told him that she loved him. She knows that it wouldn't have made any difference, that he'd still be dead, but still she wishes that instead of fighting her feelings she'd simply admitted them to both herself and to Hanaway. We, Will, Benji and myself, in turn wish that there was something we could do for her. Anything, really. Anything to make her smile or, and perhaps this is what's really needed, put a chink in her defensive armour so that she can let her grief out and start the healing process. We hover, and we try to do the right thing, and we press on through both the missions and our own... issues.

As team leader, I'm the one in charge, the one who has to keep it together regardless of the cost. I'm also the toughest, the most... lone-wolf-like... of the team. Keeping Will's unfortunate set of circumstances out of the equation because, really, they're just something else again, I've been through the most shit during my time with IMF and, although I've certainly gotten better over the past eighteen months, I'm definitely the most hard-edged and bitter. I... know... shit happens. People you care about die. You get betrayed. Just about nothing is ever as you expected it to be.

It's called reality.

And my reality in the wake of Hanaway's death, even though I've made it my own personal mission to hide it, is...

Will.

I look at him, and I imagine losing him, and, internally at least, I... lose my shit big time. Seriously. My mind just loses it and logic falls by the wayside in favour of a mass of barely coherent, confusing thoughts. I couldn't – and the small fact of life that I didn't actually know him then doesn't even come in to it – protect him from what happened in Berlin, so what's to say I'm any more capable of protecting him now? Dear God, what would I do if I lost him? It... None of it, bears thinking about, but... Think about it, I do. Jane thinks about Hanaway. Benji, I suspect, thinks about Jane and about how devastated he'd be if anything happened to any of us. I think about Will, with a rather large side serving of not wanting anything to happen to the others either, and Will... He doesn't talk about it, but I'm fairly certain he cops the lot and just worries about all of us.

I'm in danger of losing it.

We're... all... in danger of losing it.

And something is just going to have to give.

“You know,” Will murmurs, pulling back from the kiss and half frowning at me as he removes his arm from around my shoulders and cups both his hands around my face, “one of these days that... kiss him to shut him up... trick of yours just might not work, and... then what are you going to do?”

“Keep trying,” I reply, shaking off my unease and grinning as I crane my neck forward and plant a kiss on the tip of Will's nose. “Mind you, why do you ask? It's not like it's failed me so far.”

“No. It hasn't,” he agrees with a cautious smile as, dropping his hands away from my face, he sits back. “I just... I don't know... I felt as though I was losing you there and that... uh... Not knowing what to say, that was just the first thing that came to mind.”

“Losing me? Pah. Trust me, William, you're stuck with me as I'm not going anywhere,” I declare, hiding, as always, the truth behind a display of cocky bravado. “Now... Come on.” Standing up, I look pointedly at the suit bag draped across the bed before starting to walk over to the wardrobe. “I think the time has come to get a move on, don't you?”

“As Jane was going to make the call for the car to be out the front waiting for us in...” Trailing off, Will glances at his watch and pulls a face. “Seeing as we've got twenty minutes to be dressed and out of here, you're right. The time has definitely come to get moving.”

Opening the wardrobe, I retrieve my tuxedo and, as Will stands up and pulls his out of the bag, carry it over to the bed. “Speaking of Jane, how's she holding up?” I query, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress in order to bend down and take off my shoes.

“As grateful as she is for the change in plans, she's also, as I'm sure you can imagine, both embarrassed and ashamed by her behaviour,” Will replies, his expression one of resigned disapproval as he carries his tux over to the en suite and carefully hangs it on the inside of the door. “I tried to get it through to her that it was okay, that she wasn't putting anyone out, and that she could have... she... should... have spoken up earlier about how it was all just too similar to plans she'd had with Trevor, but...”

“You may as well have just saved your breath as she wasn't buying any of it?” I finish, picturing all too easily Jane's knee-jerk reaction in my mind and wishing, as always, that it just didn't have to be this way at all.

“Pretty much.” Sighing, Will steps in to the en suite and pulls the door half closed. “Uh... I'm just going to freshen up before changing.”

Will's statement not requiring any response, I forcefully push the fact that he still, both more often than not and despite knowing full well that I'm privileged enough to know his naked body as well as he does, feels compelled to get changed in private to the back of my mind, and simply concentrate on stripping off and pulling on my tux. I've just laced up my shoes and am about to start on my least favourite task of trying to beat my bow tie in to submission when Will, dressed and all ready to go, returns from the bathroom and quite literally takes my breath away. While my tuxedo is so traditional as to be one incredibly small step off boring, Will's is different in that his jacket is black velvet with black satin lapels and, while it mightn't be anything particularly out of the ordinary in itself, there's no denying it certainly looks better for it. Expensive, well cut, fitted – even though it only has to be off-the-rack – to perfection, and looking for all the world as though it was made for him.

And, seeing as I'm about as original as the design of my tux, I just can't resist leering at him and letting out a low wolf-whistle. “Words... They fail me.”

“Yeah, well... Given the... I need it now... time frame I gave them, this was the only one they had in my size,” Will responds, pausing by the mirror to brush invisible lint off his jacket before walking over to me and batting my hands away from my tie. “Here,” he continues, taking on the self-imposed task of doing it up for me. “Knowing how you feel about these things, why can't I shake the feeling that you were just waiting for me to come out of the bathroom in order to do it for you?”

“What can I say other than your timing, as always, is perfect,” I retort as, failing dismally in my attempt to stand still for Will, I give in to the urge to stroke my hands down his velvet clad arms. “You know, are you sure this jacket is such a good idea? I mean... Strangers might want to come up and... just stroke you.”

“In that case, you, as my employer, had better make sure that they keep their wandering hands to themselves,” Will replies, frowning as, and I really should have known this would be the case before I opened my stupid mouth, he takes my idea of strangers wanting to stroke their hands along his jacket seriously. “Maybe... I... I don't know. Maybe if I went a size bigger they might...”

“It was a joke.” Sighing, I close my hands around his upper arms and, leaning forward, kiss the top of his head. “A bad one, at that. Just... It's okay, Will. You look gorgeous, and... for reasons of sheer jealousy alone, you have my word that I won't let anyone near you. So... Cheer up and forget I ever said anything.”

Nodding, Will finishes putting the final touches on what is now my perfectly tied bow tie and, stepping back, looks me up and down appraisingly. “You look pretty good yourself,” he murmurs approvingly. “So good, in fact, that perhaps your mild mannered accountant might have to offer up his services as your personal bodyguard as well. I... Oh my God!” His face suddenly lighting up, Will rushes over to his suitcase and, flipping it open, starts to hurriedly paw through its contents. “I can't believe I almost forgot...” Trailing off, he triumphantly retrieves a small, dark green leather box of some obvious age from out of the case and, smiling, holds it out towards me. “Here. I have something for you.”

“For me?” A little taken aback by this unexpected turn of events, I walk over to Will and take the box from him. “I...”

“Just open it,” Will prompts, lightly tapping his finger down on the lid of the box. “I... I know it's out of the blue, but this is the first opportunity I've had to give them to you, and... Go on. Open the box and I'll explain everything once you've seen what's inside.”

Not needing telling twice, I do as I'm told and carefully open the box. Inside, nestled in a base of faded brown velvet, are a simple pair of rose gold cuff-links that, in the back of my mind, I can't help but think I've seen somewhere before. Unassuming in design, in fact they're just a round circle not that much bigger in size than that of a shirt button but, as I take one out to get a closer look at it, I see something that makes me doubt my initial thought of having recognised them. While the ones I think I remember were just plain, these have been skilfully engraved with the image of a tree that, curiously, in itself I feel as though I should recognise. All curiosity aside though, they're definitely beautiful and I'm touched by Will's thoughtfulness in having given them to me.

“I... They're lovely, but...”

“They were your Great Uncle Jack's,” Will explains quietly as he removes the second cuff-link from the box and holds it up to the light. “I was admiring his and May's wedding photo while you were out playing farmer with that damn tractor thing again and she just... whipped them out of a drawer and gave them to me to give to you. They... They were actually her wedding gift to Jack. Can you believe it? May gave these cuff-links to Jack on their wedding day and... she wanted me to pass them on to you whenever I felt the moment was right. I... I tried to get her to give them to you herself, but, as she'd decided for some reason that they'd be better coming from me, she wouldn't have it and insisted that I take them for you.”

“But...” Certain parts of what seems to be going on here starting to make sense to me, I nod and, after placing the box down on the bed, take the second cuff-link back from Will. “If these are the cuff-links I remember, I thought they were...”

“Blank,” Will interjects with a nod. “They were. In fact, May told me that she'd given them to Jack that way deliberately as she wanted him to be able to choose what he wanted engraved on them. Only... Life kept getting in the way and, although he'd mentioned on a number of occasions that he wanted to get that old oak tree, you know, the one by the gate, the one you... uh... fell out of, put on them, he... He just never got around to it. So... When May told me her story, and said that I could get whatever I wanted on them, I just knew that I had to go with the tree as... as much for Jack as for you... So, I... I hope I've done credit to Jack and May and that... uh... you like them...”

Nodding, I hand the cuff-links back to Will and hold my wrists out for him to put them on me. “They're perfect. Just... Perfect.” What's more, they really are. From their history, to May wanting Will to give them to me, to all the way down to Will having the old tree from the farm house engraved on them, they really are nothing short of the perfect gift. “I... Oh God... You know something? I don't even know what to say...”

“You don't have to say anything,” Will replies as, having finished attaching the cuff-links, he presses my wrists together and closes his hands around them. “I'm just sorry that it's taken me so long to give them to you. I kept waiting for the right moment, but... Well... What with how shit everything's been recently the... right... moment just never seemed to want to put in an appearance. But... Whatever...” Pausing, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. “They're finally yours and I... I really do hope that you like them.”

“I love them,” I confirm, “and at some point I'm probably going to have to get you to take a photograph of me wearing them for May, but... Seeing as time is threatening to get away from us here, it's going to have to wait.”

“As if making you get dressed up again in a tux in going to be a hardship,” Will mutters with a wink as he releases my hands and quickly glances down at his watch. “You're right though, we really do have to get moving.”

“Speaking of being right and of... how shit things have been recently, I...” Shrugging, I admire my cuff-links for a couple of seconds before starting to move towards the door. “Once this mission is over,” I add, placing my hand on the door handle but making no move to actually turn it, “I'm thinking the time may definitely have come for me to pull rank and insist on everyone having some vacation time. It... I mean, it's all just getting a bit much, isn't it...”

“Tell me about,” Will sighs as he joins me by the door. “You're not going to get any argument out of me as I know we could all do with a break. Benji will be all for it too, but Jane... You know as well as I do that... she's afraid to stop and just wants to keep going.”

“Which is why I was thinking of calling on your superior... Jane-handling... skills to convince her to come around to the idea,” I reply, giving Will a hopeful smile. “I get where she's coming from, we all do, but we can't keep going on like this. She... can't keep going on like this.”

“My superior Jane-handling skills, huh?” Will mutters drily. “Gee... Thanks for that. I... give you a family heirloom for a gift, and... you repay me by throwing me into the lion's den. That... That's just charming, I don't think.”

“Yeah... But you know as well as I do that if she's going to listen to someone then, out of the two of us, it'll be you.”

“Or... She'll just throw us all a curve ball and jump straight to another team.”

“I...” Damn. I hadn't even considered that possibility. “You'll just have to be very persuasive, then...”

“I can see that I'll have to be,” Will retorts, linking his arm around my elbow and giving it a quick squeeze before pulling free and gesturing at the door. “Let's... just get this out of the way first, yeah...”

I nod and open the door. “First things first, huh...”

“First things first,” Will repeats as, straightening himself up to his full height and smoothing his jacket neatly in to place, he walks through the door and smiles a benign greeting at Jane as she sits, already surrounded by laptops and surveillance equipment, at the dining table. Pale, red-eyed, and – looking as though she just wants to be in bed with the covers pulled over her head – dressed in jeans and a Dalek emblazoned t-shirt that I know for a fact used to belong to Benji, Jane's face nonetheless lights up at the sight of us and, just as I did earlier, she lets out a wolf-whistle of approval. 

“Looking good, boys,” she states with a grin that doesn't quite meet her eyes as, standing up, she walks over and, after a second or two of hesitation, runs her hands lightly across Will's shoulders. “Seriously... You both look great. So great, in fact, that I'm almost wishing I was coming with you now. I mean, what girl... wouldn't... want to be seen making an entrance with two such gorgeous men by her side?”

Shrugging, Will shares a quick look with me and frowns. “If you've changed your...”

“The key word there, Will, was... almost,” Jane interrupts as, her expression souring, she gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before walking back over to the dining table and returning to her seat. “You both look fabulous, and there really is a part of me that would love to be seen out with you, but... This...” She gestures at the laptops and, just on the off chance we're a little slow on the uptake and not getting it, toasts us with a cup of coffee. “This is my date for the evening and I'm perfectly fine with it. The facial recognition software is all good to go, I've checked all the cameras and know they're fully operational, and I've got my coffee, so... Hey... I'm all set for a great night in.”

“Maybe...” Sharing another look with me, Will shrugs and begins to move towards the door. “When this is all over, perhaps the four of us could get dressed up and go out anyway,” he offers, keeping his gaze fixed on the door as Jane jerks her head up to gaze wide-eyed at his back. “It... It's just an idea, of course, and not something that needs an answer now, so... Seeing as you're all set up and we need to be on our way... Ethan, are you good to go?”

“I'm good if you are,” I reply, nodding a silent farewell to Jane as Will opens the door and steps out in to the corridor. “Uh... We'll see you when we're looking at you,” I add over my shoulder as, following Will out of the room, I wait until he's pulled the door shut before heading off towards the elevator. “That...”

“Went about as well as could be expected,” Will mutters, cutting me off. “But... Maybe it was a start, yeah... She could have jumped down my throat, but she didn't, and...”

“Everything's got to start somewhere.” Coming to a stop by the elevator, I hit the button to call it up to our floor and, wanting to move things along, look Will up and down and smile. “Speaking for myself here, I wouldn't be against the idea of getting all dressed up again and going out at all. In fact, I think it might just be one of the best ideas you've ever had.”

“Mmm... Good luck convincing Jane of that,” he retorts as, the elevator doors gliding silently open in front of us, he gestures me in first. “You know... I've been thinking...”

“I wouldn't, if I were you.”

“What?”

“Think. From my general experience at least, it's bad for you.”

“If you're talking about... me... there, that thinking is usually bad for me, you'd...”

“Actually, I was referring to my self.”

“Oh... But as I'd been going to say before I was rudely interrupted...”

“Rudely, huh?”

“You heard me.” Smirking, Will presses the button for the ground floor and gives me a look that can be best described as... coy. “Now, as I was trying to say... I think, given that I'm basically your employee and all that, that I should be the one to drive to the gallery...”

“Oh... You do, do you?” Laughing, I shake my head and give Will's arm a poke with my finger. “You... really do think of everything, don't you...”

“Well, I do pride myself on my thoroughness.”

“And you don't think it would look right if I were to... drive my accountant... up to the front door of the gallery?”

“No. I don't. It... It just wouldn't look right at all. Now... If Jane had gone with you as your PA-slash-date, it would have looked fine, but...”

“Not with you as my accountant.”

“Now you're getting it.”

“And... This wouldn't have anything whatsoever to do with you wanting to drive the Aston, now would it.”

His smirk broadening, Will sneaks in a quick kiss to my cheek just as the doors open on to the ground floor. “I'm... hurt... that you'd even think such a thing,” he mock pouts as, spotting the black Aston Martin Vanquish waiting for us on the other side of the ornate glass doors leading in to the lobby, he grabs my hand and all but drags me out of the elevator. “Hey... As I've told you before, while I might think James Bond is a bit of a, to use the local vernacular, wanker, I... have... however, always been a fan of his taste in cars.”

“Wanker,” I repeat, rolling my eyes as I make no attempt to stop Will from heading towards the driver's side. “Remind me, will you, to see what I can do about stopping Benji from adding... British-isms to your vocabulary.”

“Pillock, then? Would that be better?” Laughing, Will gives the doorman a nod of acknowledgement before poking his tongue out at me over the roof of the car and climbing in behind the wheel.

Nodding my own thanks to the doorman as he opens my door, I climb in to the passenger seat and, as he gently pushes the door shut, pull my seatbelt on. “Oddly enough, no, pillock... wouldn't... be any better,” I mutter, watching Will as he puts the car into gear and, spotting a gap in the evening traffic, swiftly drives it out on to the street. “You know... If you wanted to drive this badly, all you had to do was say...”

“Yeah... But where's the fun in that?” he replies, gracing me with what would have to be the most genuine looking grin I've seen for a long time. “For what it's worth though, I really don't think it would have done for... a man of your standing... to be seen driving his accountant around.” 

“Uh-huh. I'll just take your word for that.” Returning Will's grin, I settle back in my seat and, knowing that the time is now on us to slip in to mission-mode, close my eyes. Monitor and identify. We know what we're doing. There's no threat we have to be on heightened alert for. Mingle, feign art appreciation, and just do what we have to do until it's time to return to the hotel.

Easy.

Beneath our abilities, even, but regardless of my earlier thoughts on the subject, I'll take it.

I'll take the cheap thrill of getting to see Will in a tuxedo and grinning over something as simple as getting to drive a sports car, and, for a few short hours at least I'll just go with the flow. Concentrate on the task at hand, try to spend more time looking at the art lining the walls than gazing at Will, and just... not think about anything else.

With any luck, it might even end up being a good night.

Will not feeling any more in need of talking than I do, we complete the drive to Covent Garden in comfortable silence and I only open my eyes once he's brought the Aston to a smooth stop in one of the allocated on-street parking spots opposite the gallery. “Did it live up to expectations, then?” I query, gliding my hand along the steering wheel as Will unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door.

“And then some,” he smiles, looking across at the well lit gallery and the large amount of expensively dressed people milling around both outside on the street and inside behind the huge plate glass windows that make up its façade. “So... You ready for this?”

“I was born ready,” I retort as, undoing my seatbelt and climbing out of the car, I peer across the roof at the gallery and shrug. “How do you plan on doing this?” I add, joining Will on the road as he both locks, and checks to make sure that it's locked, the car. “When all is said and done, you've got far more on your plate here than I do.”

“My memory's usually pretty good, but I think I'll just go with making notes on who I recognise in the margins of the auction book,” Will responds as, side by side, we walk across the road to the gallery. “I have a pen in my pocket, and as I can already see a lot of people walking around jotting things in their book, I'll just fit right in. Besides, it'll be in keeping with my cover as that of your financial adviser.”

“That it will,” I agree, getting in front of Will and marching up to the overly-blonde, overly-thin, and overly made-up woman on the door. Pulling my invite out from the inside of my jacket, I hand it over to her and, as she scowls disapprovingly at Will, inform her as succinctly as I possibly can – and all the time with an undertone of... 'Now, this wouldn't be a problem at all, would it?' – that my planned date for the cocktail party suddenly came down with something and that, in her place, I've brought my accountant instead. While it's pretty clear from her expression that she doesn't like it – change, the fact we've upset the male to female ratio of the night, the possible thought that I'm bullshitting her and, God forbid, we're actual... homosexuals... out on a date – much, she nonetheless, with both a grunt and a dismissive wave of her hand, shoves a guide book at Will and lets us through.

“The auction is tomorrow night, no offers will be considered tonight, and there's a buyer's premium of ten percent on top of the selling price,” she states in a monotone as, already having lost interest in us, she turns her scintillating personality on to – her next victims – the Middle Eastern couple behind us.

“There's a contender for charm school if ever there was one,” Will mutters as he pulls his pen out from his pocket and slowly looks around. “This... Shit. There may be even more people of interest after this than we'd originally though,” he adds in a whisper. “Just... Look... There's...” Falling silent, he shakes his head and, in order to look as though he's just making notes on the artwork, moves closer to a spectacularly weird looking painting by Salvador Dali. “I think we're going to have our work cut out for us here just trying to keep track of everyone.”

“Don't forget Jane's monitoring all the security feeds and doing what she can to cross check false identities against their real ones back at the hotel,” I murmur, “so just do what you can and don't stress.”

“Seeing as I think I recognise at least half the men in this room, that's easy for you to say,” Will replies with a bland smile. “But... Come on. Let's just get this show on the road.”

Art, especially modern art, being one of those things that I can take or leave – generally with an emphasis on the... leave – I throw just about everything I've got in to faking both interest and pleasure at the pieces scattered around the surprisingly large gallery and for close to two hours simply lose myself in my designated role of rich art lover. While it's more mentally exhausting than it probably should be, the task isn't particularly an onerous one and to my relief the time pretty much just flies. Will, all the time busily filling his guide with his own, translatable only by him, short hand, trails after me and, not knowing who might be listening in, we keep our conversation strictly to all things art and money related. Recognisable faces, including that of Benji who looked none too pleased with his role of a drinks waiter, pop up everywhere that we turn and, although I hide it, I'm dismayed – as it seems that just about anyone who thinks they're something in the worldwide underground is after it – at just how much attention this virus is getting. You'd be forgiven for thinking, given both what I do and how long I've been doing it for, that the depravity of some people wouldn't even get to me anymore. After all, just about you name it and I've seen it.

But it does. 

It does still get to me. 

A number, a fairly large number at that, of the people attending the auction preview tonight are only here because they want to get their grubby, genocidal hands on a virus that has the capacity to wipe out entire populations. Some might want it for their own use, while others might have their eye on it because they know they can sell it on at a profit and, really, I don't even know which is worse. Wanting to be responsible for mass slaughter yourself, or wanting to profit from it. It's a very fine line and, regardless of which side they fall on, it's just wrong. Sick, even.

“Fifteen minutes until they shut the doors and don't allow anyone else in,” Will whispers, giving me a relieved look as we come to a stop in front of an Andy Warhol print of an electric chair. “Uh...” Frowning, he gestures at the print. “Why?”

“Because as we all too clearly know, the world is full of whack jobs,” I reply, gently prodding him in the side with my elbow so that we can move on to the next, far less macabre, Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe. “Some, however, just call themselves artists and get away with it.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn't be wanting it over my fireplace,” Will mutters, glancing back at the print and wrinkling his nose, “or, even worse, above my bed.”

“And there I was thinking of putting a bid on it so that I could surprise you with it for Christmas.”

“Oh. You were, were you?”

“I'm just generous like that.”

“Full of shit, more like,” Will whispers directly in my ear as, to our immediate amusement, an elderly couple wearing evening clothes that were probably last in fashion in the Seventies come to a stop in front of the electric chair and start discussing it enthusiastically. “Actually, no, I take that back,” he continues with a shake of his head as we move on to the next Warhol, a print of a large blue cat called Sam. “Those two, who I think may just be going into raptures over the thing, they're, and I appreciate this isn't very nice of me... full of shit.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I murmur, tilting my head towards the print of... Sam... and only just resisting the urge to sigh. “Sam here, however, may have just tipped me over the edge once and for all and I think, if I'm going to survive the next fifteen minutes, that I need a drink.”

“Champagne?” Will offers, looking around for one of the waiters and, to his great annoyance if the frown that takes up residence on his face is anything to go by, not finding any. “Hell. Where have they all gone? They were everywhere a moment ago.”

“Maybe Benji's gone postal in the back room and they're all having to restrain him,” I offer, shrugging as I flash Will a quick smirk. “You saw the look on his face, didn't you? He did not look like a happy camper at all.”

“Mmm... But would you be happy having to serve drinks to this lot all night?” he replies, pointing across the room to a makeshift bar set up under another – weird-as-fuck – Dali painting. “God knows I wouldn't. But... Seeing as there's a bar over there, just tell me what you want and I'll go and get it for you.”

“You don't have...”

“I'm staff, remember,” he interjects with a shrug as he hands me both his pen and auction guide. “Now, what do you want? Scotch?”

Flipping open the guide book, I glance down at all of Will's notes and nod. “Going on what I'm seeing here, make it a double.”

“You just try to decide how much you're willing to bid on old Sam here, and I'll be back in a minute,” Will states, laughing as, not entirely sure that he's joking here, I shoot him a look of disbelief. “What? A big blue cat isn't doing it for you?”

“You're... not doing it for me,” I groan, gesturing him towards the bar. “Just... Go and get me that drink.”

Turning back to face... Sam, I stare at the print intently and, as the couple in their more-dated-than-retro clothing continue to gush over the – nuances, and social commentary contained within its depths – electric chair, just... try to get it.

And...

… Fail miserably.

It's a cat. Well, that is, it's recognisable as a cat while simultaneously looking nothing like any cat I've ever met. It's blue. And it's called Sam.

And... Nope. I just don't get the appeal at all.

Shaking my head, I mentally wave the white flag of defeat and move on to the next painting which, having finished with the Warhol's, isn't even by an artist whose name I've ever heard before and, which I'll be damned if I can even recognise anything in the mass of colour splattered haphazardly over the canvas. In fact, to be brutally honest here it's just ugly and, feeling even more in need of a drink than I did a moment ago, I turn around and look over at the bar in the hope of finding Will already walking back towards me. To my surprise I don't immediately spot him, either standing at the bar or making his way back through the crowd and, immediately more alert than I was a second ago, I stand perfectly still and slowly scan the room until I find him standing next to some sort of metal and glass sculpture. Relieved at having located him, I'm about to go back to pretending to admire the – getting uglier by the canvas – artwork when out of nowhere it hits me that something isn't right.

Why is he standing there when all he was doing was getting me a drink? He's nowhere near the bar and, seeing as he has his hands clasped behind his back it's obviously that he doesn't have my scotch.

His...

Shit!

His hands are clasped behind his back, his shoulders are straight, his head seems to be slightly lowered, and...

… There's a man, a man I've never seen before and who I instantly don't like the look of, standing far too close in front of him.

Not overly tall, in fact he's shorter than Will, and in his early to mid fifties, the man, with his both thinning and greying pale blond hair, baby smooth face and small, cold eyes, sends alarm bells ringing in my head and, for a dreadful second, I just don't know what it is I should do. While stomach clenching, breath restricting logic screams at me that the situation can only mean one thing, I still, as my pulse increases and I actually begin to feel a little light headed, don't quite know what to do. It goes without saying that sheer – 'this can't be happening' – instinct makes me want to march up to the man and, without so much as faking either an attempt at social niceties or trying to diffuse the situation as quietly as possible, just kneeing the fucker in the balls as hard as I possibly can. I'd then, just for good measure and to ensure he was fully aware of how little I happened to think of him, like to elbow him in the jaw and leave him writhing around on the floor in agony.

But...

I can't.

Not if I want to keep my cover of a rich, but essentially boring and harmless, plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills.

Which, for the sake of the mission, if not exactly my own peace of mind, I have to.

The mission... has... to come first.

So...

Do I just leave it in Will's hopefully capable hands and let him extricate himself from the situation without assistance? Or... Do I go over and play the role of domineering boss? And, if I go down that path, do I keep strictly in the realm of... rich guy / accountant, or... do I go along with how the scene appears to be being played out and go with... rich guy / object?

I...

Fuck.

The short-assed, pasty-faced bastard isn't even someone we've identified as being of interest either, so I don't even know who he is or whether he should be afforded due caution in my approach or whether he's just one of those unfortunate... fly in the ointment... type creatures who, once the moment is over, will just slither back in to the same hole he came out of and that'll be the end of it.

I...

Again. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Some unknown asshole, who – Dear God – clearly recognises him, has Will effectively cornered, and...

Although something like all of thirty seconds have passed since I first noticed what was happening, I'm just... dithering over what to do when, really, I should be doing... something. Anything.

Shifting slightly to the left so that I can look over Will's shoulder and get the man directly in my line of sight, I narrow my eyes and concentrate on reading his thin lips as, with a degree of skin-crawling familiarity that sets my teeth on edge, he strokes his hand along Will's satin lapel.

'… I know now why it took me so long to recognise you...'

'… You... do... look different with your clothes on...'

And...

Okay.

That's it.

Seeing just about every shade of red there is, I stride over towards the sculpture and, after quickly resigning myself to the only real role open to me if I want to... add... to our cover as opposed to just destroying it, roughly grab Will by the arm and pull him backwards. “There you are!” I declare as, shaking off just enough of his shock to slip into the role I've handed him, Will, all the time with his head lowered, positions himself a discrete distance behind me. “I told you to get me a drink, not...” Pausing, I look down my nose at the man and, wanting to make sure he's aware he means less than nothing to me, give a dismissive shrug. “Never mind. We'll deal with this... indiscretion... later,” I add flatly as, giving him an unimpressed look, I none-too-gently shove Will in the direction of the bar. “If you think you can manage it this time...Drink. Now.”

“I... Yes... Of course. Sorry. I... I'll get your drink,” Will replies in a voice barely above that of a whisper as, without once lifting his head, he dutifully does as... ordered... and hurries off towards the bar.

“So, he can speak!” the man exclaims, clapping – to my great horror – me on the shoulder as though we're long lost friends. “I have to say that I... had... wondered.”

“Well, wonder no more,” I mutter through clenched teeth, as my desire to knee the fucker rising yet another notch, I turn to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” he continues, giving me a thin lipped smile as he glances towards the bar and, with no subtlety whatsoever, looks Will up and down as he waits for the barman to pour my drink. “He is yours?”

Mine.

Like he's my... property. Just an... object... that I can do whatever I like with, or... to.

In many ways, all of which I know he'd agree with, Will... is... mine.

Just as I'm... his.

Yet not in the way this delusional asshole thinks, and I'll be damned if he thinks I'm going to stand here having this sick excuse for a conversation with him.

“Damn right he's mine,” I hiss, abruptly smacking his hand away as he makes the mistake of reaching for me and, without waiting around to give him the chance to open his mouth again, stalking off. As it's simply, and that's even without adding how I've chosen to earn my living in to the equation, an occupational hazard of life, I've met a lot of pricks over my time. Men, and women too, for that matter, who have made me sick to the stomach to deal with and who, really, it would be far too polite to just call oxygen thieves.

And... Yes. Whoever the fuck that man, Mr Wannabe Master is, he's definitely made the list. 

Just...

How fucking... dare... he put Will on the spot like that? I mean, what gives him the Goddamn right to think he can just walk up to someone and impress his perceived superiority on them? I don't care that he might remember Will from...

Actually...

No.

I do care.

I care a lot.

If, and I can see no other logical explanation for everything that's just happened, he knows Will from his time in that Parisian... club, then...

Fuck.

Fuck it, and that short-assed prick, to fucking hell and back.

Feeling more and more as though I'm in danger of just losing it, I take a deep, not particularly calming breath and walk up to Will as, glass of scotch in hand, he turns away from the bar. “You okay?” I murmur quietly as, looking in dire need of a lie down, he hands me the scotch. “Will?”

“I'm fine,” he replies in a deceptively neutral tone as, giving me a blank look, he allows me to guide him away from both the bar and my new enemy.

“Will...” Not being entirely stupid, I know that I'm wasting my breath here and that Will's shutters have already been firmly locked in to position, but... What else can I do? Pretend that it never happened? Wrap him up, better late than never, in cotton wool and drag him out of here? Howl, and go through with my original desire of kneeing the fucker in the balls? “I... If you want to go back to the car, or...”

“I'm fine,” Will repeats, taking both the auction guide and his pen back from me and opening it up to the only page that isn't already half covered in his curiously neat short hand. “The doors shut in ten minutes and we've still got work to do.”

“But...”

“I'm fine.”

“Will...”

“Why wouldn't I be, huh?” he snaps, giving me a pained – 'just drop it, will you' – look as he taps his pen down on the page. “I'm fine, nothing happened, and I... I just want to do my job.”

“I...” Reluctantly accepting that this isn't something I'm ever going to win, I give a curt nod and shrug. “Fine. The doors shut in ten, so... If we hang around for another ten minutes after that, then... That should be us done for the night.”

“Fine.” 

Will, his expression just about as closed off and unreadable as I've ever seen it, shifts away from me without another word and, for no real reason other than I don't know what else to do with myself, I trail, all the time deliberately keeping a few steps between us, after him. I know that the mission always has to come first, and that what I need to do is just push this... unpleasantness... aside for the time being and concentrate on the task at hand, but I...

I can't.

I know that, as in the grand scheme of things nothing happened, I'm being ridiculous and that I need to focus. I also know that what's done is sadly done and that I have a job to do.

But I...

I just can't do it.

I can't concentrate on trying to identify persons of interest as I'm too busy keeping one eye on Will while I also keep track of... the creep... with the other. I'm breaking protocol and not doing my job to the best of my ability, and I...

… Just can't help it.

I think of the man recognising Will and just what, in turn, that fully implies. Then I think of Will's instinctive, beaten in to him, submissive reaction and what his own memories of their encounter might be.

And then I see red.

It shouldn't have happened. I should have been able to protect Will. How... dare... that bastard behave in such a casual, proprietary way towards him. He had no right. No right at all. Who is he, anyway? And, while I'm at it, what makes him think that was a perfectly okay way to act? Maybe he thinks he's a big fish in his own particular puddle of water, but that doesn't mean he can just play lord – and master – over others. Bastard. Mother fucking lowlife piece of shit.

And...

Will.

He's doing a good job of keeping it together, far better than I am, in fact, but... Is it just for show? How's he really feeling? He hardly ever talks about what happened to him during those six months, just a snippet, like the one about how he was actually asked if he wanted to be delivered to me that night, here and there and generally when I least expect it, and never in any detail. He's been free for eighteen months now, so maybe...

Hopefully he really is okay and I'm just working myself up over nothing because, not having been able to stop it from happening, it's all that I can do.

Fixate, and hate, and... ultimately... just feel completely and utterly fucking useless.

“Unless you've got a reason for wanting to stay,” Will announces, his voice penetrating through the fog of self-recrimination in my head and causing me to come crashing back to reality, “I think we may as well leave.”

“Uh... Sure.” Blinking at an oversized Jeff Koon's painting of Popeye that – for some reason makes me think more fondly of Warhol's blue cat – I hadn't even been aware I was standing in front of, I turn to Will and... wow... him with a blank smile. “You think we're done here?”

“As the doors have been shut for ten minutes already, yes, I think we're done,” he confirms, giving me a blank look of his own as he gestures at the glass of scotch still in my hand. “Just... Drink up and let's get out of here.”

“I... Of course.” Quickly swallowing the scotch in one mouthful, I place the empty glass down on the tray of a passing waiter and, all the time trying my best not to think about how twenty minutes could have just passed me by like that, follow Will out of the gallery. Breathing in the cold, March night air, I start to feel as though I'm coming more to my senses and hurry to catch up to Will as he crosses the road and unlocks the Vanquish. “Would you like me to drive?” I offer, tapping Will on the shoulder and earning myself both a huff, and a... look... of annoyance for my troubles. “Uh... I just thought that if you weren't feeling up...”

“Why wouldn't I be feeling up to driving?” Will mutters, opening the driver's side door and, without looking at me, climbing in to the car. “Look, Ethan, I'm fine, so... So stop worrying about me and get in the Goddamn car,” he adds, pulling the door shut in my face and, before I've even had time to walk around to the passenger side, starting the engine.

Quickly, because I'm not... entirely... positive he wouldn't just drive off and leave me here, getting in to the car, I shut the door and, as he pulls in to traffic without bothering to indicate, shrug as I do up my seatbelt. “Will...”

“I'm fine.”

“If you want to talk, or...”

“I'm fine.”

“While I don't know about that, you certainly sound as though you're stuck on repeat.”

“Fine.”

“I...” Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that crap. “I gather that you've had a shock, and...”

“For God's sake, Ethan, just drop it!”

“Will...”

“Look. I'm fine. As he himself said, I had my clothes on for a change... So, you know, of course I'm fucking fine!”

And I'm next in line to the throne, but, I don't know, for some reason I think I'm just better off keeping my smart-ass response to myself. “Fine,” I murmur quietly. “I... I'm just sorry that it happened, that's all.”

“Whatever,” Will mutters, keeping both his eyes on the road directly in front of him and his hands clenched tightly around the wheel. “I always knew it was inevitable, and... and now it's happened.”

“And... You're...” As capable of lying through your teeth as I am. “... Fine with it...”

“I'm fine with it.”

“Uh-huh...” Realising yet again that this version of a conversation isn't getting either of us anywhere, I don't bother saying anything else and, each of us lost in our own thoughts, we complete the drive back to the Dorchester in what can only be described as awkward silence. In fact, neither of us speak again until we walk in to our suite and, wanting to put on a show that's all as well as it could possibly be, I call out a greeting to Jane as she sits at the dining table, while Will, looking increasingly pale and perhaps just that little bit agitated, makes an immediate beeline for our bedroom.

“I... I just... need to... uh... freshen up,” he states just a tad breathlessly as, instantly alerted to the fact that not all is right, Jane jerks her head up and gazes across the room at him. “I... I'll just be a minute...”

“Will?” Glancing over to where I'm standing, flat-footed, just inside the doorway, Jane gives me a dubious look and makes to stand up. “What's the...”

“I... I'm fine,” he interrupts, looking just about anything... other... than fine as he disappears in to the bedroom and hurriedly pulls the door shut behind him.

“Fine, huh?” Jane mutters, flopping back down in her chair and gazing over at me expectantly. “Ethan? Care to explain... fine... to me?”

“No. I wouldn't,” I reply, tearing my gaze away from the bedroom door and hurrying over to the dining table. “The software, did it capture face shots of all of the guests?” I demand, tapping my finger on the screen of the closest laptop.

“I'm fairly confident it got everyone,” Jane replies, her expression changing to one of obvious concern. “Why?”

“Because I want you to dig up everything that you can on one of them, that's why,” I respond, moving around the table to stand next to her. “Male. Fifties...”

“Before you continue, does this have something to do with the virus, or... Will?” she interjects, frowning as she glances towards the bedroom. “He... Something happened, didn't it?”

“If I tell you that it's got something to do with Will, will you stop asking questions that I probably can't answer anyway and get on with the task of identifying this asshole for me?”

Nodding, Jane starts keying data in to the laptop. “Male. Fifties...”

“Caucasian. Short, easily under six foot. Thinning, greying blond hair...” Pausing as a number of likely candidates begin to fill the computer screen, I lean forward until I find the image I'm looking for and jab my finger at it. “Him! That's the one. I want to know everything, and I really do mean everything, about him.”

“And while I'm digging up the dirt on this guy, you're...”

“Going to go and see just how... fine... Will really is,” I sigh, meeting Jane's worried gaze and giving a quick shake of my head. “Just... Don't ask. I'm hoping it's nothing, I really am, but...”

“But he's not fine at all, is he,” Jane finishes with a sigh of her own as she closes her hand around my wrist and gives it a quick squeeze. “Why, huh? Why does shit keep happening to us? Will, he...” Trailing off, she abruptly pulls her hand away and wipes the back of it across her eyes. “If that bastard's done something to...”

“He'll be fine,” I interrupt, resting my hand down on her shoulder and hoping like mad that I'm somehow managing to sound more assured of this fact than I actually feel. “He... mightn't be at the moment, but... but he will be. He... I think he's just had a bit of shock, that's all.”

“So long as that's all it is,” she mutters, shrugging off my hand as she turns her attention to the computer. “I've got this, Ethan. Just go and be with Will.”

Not wanting to further sour Jane's mood by murmuring, 'wish me luck', under my breath, I simply nod and, despite having no idea whatsoever as to what I'm about to be walking in to, make my way over to the bedroom. Giving the door a cursory knock, I wait a couple of seconds to give Will time to reply and, when I don't hear anything, just open it and walk in. Having been half expecting to find him curled up on the bed, I'm a little taken aback to find the room empty and can't shake the sinking feeling that things are going to be even worse than I could have thought. Will's a survivor, and he tries so hard to keep it together, but this... There's just no way that what happened to him back at the gallery won't have effected him in some way. He would have been able to hide it at the gallery because he, unlike me, would have forced himself to concentrate on the mission as opposed to anything else. Now, though...

Alone. In private.

I just don't even want to think about it. What he's going through. How he's feeling. What all of this is taking out of him.

Just what, if anything, I'll be able to do for him.

There being nowhere else he could be other than the en suite, I walk across the room, taking in the sight of both his shoes and velvet jacket lying discarded on the carpet as I pass them, and, without knocking this time, just open the door and step into the bathroom. 

And...

It's worse...

… Far, far worse than I ever could have imagined, and, for a dreadful second my thoughts are more full of what I'd like to do to the bastard that's reduced him to this than they are for Will himself.

I...

Dear God. I want to – tear him from limb to limb – kill him. If just... encountering... him in a public place can do this to Will, what on earth did the fucker actually do to him?

Both numbly and acting solely on autopilot, I kick off my shoes and shrug out of my jacket before walking over to the shower and sliding open the glass door. Will, who's sitting, still dressed in everything other than his shoes and jacket, on the floor of the shower with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting down on his folded arms, gives no indication of even being aware of my arrival and this in itself is enough to make the moment even worse than it already was.

Broken.

Whatever the bastard did to him is so bad that it's... broken... him in a way that I've never seen before.

Thinking solely of Will and, yet again, what, if anything, I can do for him, I step in to the shower without sparing a thought as to how hot the water raining down on him might be and, startled by how... close to scalding... it actually is, very nearly hop straight back out again. “Shit! Uh...” Quickly reaching for the cold tap, I lower the temperature a couple of – much needed – degrees before sliding down the tiled wall and settling myself on the floor next to Will. I then, without giving myself time to fall prey to doubt, drape my around his slumped shoulders and, as tears well in my eyes and my heart hammers dully in my chest, just hug him to me. 

Will, instead of either stiffening or trying to push me away, and the fact that this would just about have to be the highlight of my day isn't something I particularly want to dwell on, slumps against me without hesitation and slides his arms around my waist so that he's hugging me back as though his life depended on it. He also, without once looking up at me, rests his head on my chest and sighs heavily. “I... I'm sorry. I...”

“Shhh,” I whisper, kissing the top of his bowed head and pulling him even more tightly against me. “It's okay. I... I'm here, and... you're okay. Just... Listen to me, Will, everything's okay.”

“I...” Breathing deeply, Will closes his eyes and curls his finger around the sodden fabric of my shirt. “I... I recognised him. I... Of course I did. The... the second he came up to me...”

“Shhh... It's okay,” I repeat hoarsely as, giving the top of his head another kiss, I begin to rub my hand up and down his upper arm. “You don't have to...”

“He... He was a... a regular,” he continues, both haltingly and as though I'd never even opened my mouth, “and... and his... thing...was electricity, any... anything he could get a... a current through...”

“Will...” I groan. I just can't help it. I mean, I'd already worked out that things had to be bad, but... This bad? I just...

I'm quite sure I really, really don't want to know.

A sound that has far too much in common with a whimper for my liking coming out of Will's mouth, he turns his face in to my chest and shudders. “The... The first time I got delivered to him was... It was after I'd been sick. I... I'd had a throat and chest infection and... and I was still weak. Weak enough to... not be able to... to take it. What he... What he did, I... I passed out, and... And when I came to I... Oh God, Ethan, he... He'd put me in a coffin!”

Another, even more heartfelt than the first one, groan slipping past my lips, I screw my eyes shut and, not for the first time, or I suspect the last, just marvel at how cruel – and twisted – some people are capable of being. While I'll freely admit that I don't personally understand the concept of mixing pain with pleasure, the fact that it works for others isn't something that generally bothers me. Hell, I don't get those who want to wear – and rub up against each other whilst wearing them – fur suits and, while I'm at it, the idea of sucking toes has never been that great a turn on either, so... Whatever. To each their own and all that. As simplistic an overview as it might be, for every sadist there's a masochist, and if that's what works for them then, hey, it really doesn't have a single thing to do with me.

Will, though...

He didn't have any say in what was being done to him. He was held captive and made to submit to the sexual perversions of others for six months, and...

… It just sickens me.

“I... I was gagged and bound,” Will continues as, possibly subconsciously, he tightens his grip on my shirt, “so I... I couldn't move, couldn't do... I couldn't do anything to let them know I was still alive, and... and... Oh God...” The sound of Will's breath catching in his throat causing my eyes to fly open, I shift, all the time gently moving him with me, into a kneeling position and, quickly wrapping my arms around his back, just hug him to me. “Ethan, I... I'd been wanting to die, but... but not like that, and... he... Oh God... He threw dirt or... or something... down on the top of the coffin so that it... Oh God... it sounded...”

Like he was being buried alive.

Not content with... shocking... him in to unconsciousness, the bastard then put him in a coffin and went out of his way to make him feel as though he was being buried alive.

My earlier desire to knee him in the balls? Fuck that. Cut them off and feed them to him, more like.

“Hey... Shhh... It's okay,” I murmur thickly as Will rests his balled up fists on my chest and throws everything he's got in to not – completely giving up – starting to cry. “Come on, it... It's okay.”

“He made a point of requesting me after that,” Will states, lifting his head and giving me, for the first time since I joined him in the en suite, a raw, wide eyed look. “Seeing him, it...”

“It brought it all flooding back, but it's...”

“I didn't want to let it bother me. I... Oh God, Ethan, I didn't want to bother you with it, but I... I could see it in his eyes. He... He wanted to pick up where he left off, and...”

“And it's okay, it... It really is,” I interject, resting my forehead against Will's as, his breathing laboured, he once again slumps limply against me. “ He's never going to touch you again and everything... Listen to me, Will, everything's okay. You're... okay.”

“No I'm not! I...”

“You're okay and you're not to think anything differently. So... Shhh... The only thing you need to do is calm down...”

“I... I'm sorry. You don't...”

“This isn't about me, Will, and you've got nothing to apologise for, so... Come on, shhh...”

“I didn't want to...”

“I know you didn't, but it's okay. It... It really is okay.”

“I'm just... sorry,” Will whispers with a heavy sigh as, draping his arms over my shoulders, he makes himself a little more comfortable in my embrace.

“So am I,” I murmur quietly. “I'm sorry for... everything. But...” As, sadly, that's not going to change a damn thing, I know I just have to keep repeating myself in the hope of finally being able to get through to him that things really... are... okay. Not great, in fact far from great, but still... okay. “Come on, Will, just... I've got you, and it's okay...”

If I keep saying it, with any luck I might even start to believe it.

It... Things... They're okay. 

We're huddled, all but fully clothed, on the floor of the shower. My head is throbbing, I want to kill a man whose name I don't even know, and my lover is a crumpled wreck in my arms.

It's okay.

Everything's fucking okay.

Hell. Things, they've never been fucking better.

Choking back a sigh, I hug Will to me and, as his breathing evens out and he gradually begins to calm down, just... don't think about anything.

Nothing.

Not what that prick – repeatedly – put Will through. 

Not how this is the worse I've ever seen him.

Not my own feelings of inadequacy.

Not...

… Anything.

I hug Will, and rub circles in his back with the palm of my hand, and just... wait it out.

Minutes tick far, all things considered, from uncomfortably by and once I'm satisfied Will is in as fit a state to be moved as he's likely to get, I both very slowly and very carefully, and once again making a careful point to keep him with me every step of the way, stand up. “Come on, you,” I murmur, turning the water off before guiding Will out of the shower and snatching up a towel. “Let's get you dry, in to your pyjamas, and in to bed.”

“But, I... I need to help Jane,” Will protests weakly as, not really looking as though his legs are wanting to hold him up, he gazes past me to the door. “My notes, she... She won't be able to...”

“Your notes and all of that can wait,” I reply, cocking my head to the side and wondering just how on earth I'm going to do this. Without inadvertently giving him the impression that I'm just... pawing... at him in my haste to get his clothes off, I have to get Will undressed, dry, and in to his pyjamas while, at the same time, somehow managing to keep him upright.

Just...

Easy.

I don't think.

“So, how do you want to do this?” I query in the vague hope of Will actually being able to offer me a suggestion here as, draping the towel over my arm, I reach for his bow tie and fumble over pulling it off. “Do you feel up to just doing it yourself, or...”

“I need to help Jane,” he repeats, giving me a vacant – the lights are on but no-one's home – look. “I... I should be...”

“I'm sure Jane's already got enough to go on for the time being as, seriously, Will, you're not going anywhere other than to bed,” I interrupt matter-of-factly as, mentally pushing my sleeves up, I just give myself over to the task at hand. It's not easy, as Will's not in any condition to stand unaided let alone to help, but somehow, with a lot of prodding, pushing and silent prayers, I eventually manage to get him both dry and dressed in his pyjamas. To my disappointment he doesn't look any more... 'with it'... when I've finished and, just wanting to get him into bed as quickly as possible, I don't bother with drying myself before leading him out of the en suite and over to the bed.

“I'm sorry,” Will whispers, leaning against the wall and watching me through downcast eyes as I quickly pull down the bedding. “I feel as though I've screwed everything up.”

“You haven't screwed anything up and nor have you anything to apologise for,” I reply, quashing, as I'd only make him all wet again, the urge to give him one last hug and settling instead for giving his cheek a soft kiss as I help him down on to the edge of the bed. “Everything's okay, Will, you'll see. You've had a shock, that's all...”

“I... I see him,” he mumbles, gazing down at his lap in preference to looking at me as, yet again feeling as though I don't know what to do, I hover – helplessly – in front of him. “When I close my eyes, I... I see him, and... and that... look... on his face as he played with the controller in his hands, and... I...” 

“It... Come on, Will, it's okay,” I interject, cutting him off as, quite literally not knowing what else to do, I rush over to my suitcase and pull out a small white bottle of sleeping pills. I've never actually made use of them myself, and I can't recall ever having seen Will turn to them either, but... Tonight. Maybe I'm clutching at straws, or perhaps even taking the easy way out, but tonight I can't help but think they might just end up being worth their weight in gold. “I know these might seem like a cop out, but... Maybe... I'm not saying you have to take them, but perhaps just for tonight they mightn't be the worse idea ever?” I murmur, placing the pills on the bedside table before walking in to the en suite and quickly getting a glass of water. “It's your call, of course, and if you'd rather I just...”

“At the risk of even further lowering your opinion of me,” Will whispers, picking up the bottle and, with slightly shaking hands, tipping two of the tiny white pills into his palm, “as I know they're the only thing that'll stand any chance of getting the bastard out of my head, I... I'll take them.”

“My opinion of you is as high as it ever it was,” I state as, stifling a groan, I crouch down in front of Will and hand him the glass of water. “Will... Please. Don't... You're not to think like that as... as this doesn't change anything. Not... Listen to me, it doesn't change a damn thing. You... You're still... you... and the only reason I offered you the pills was because I don't know how else to get that asshole out of your head. It... It certainly wasn't because I think you're weak, or...” Trailing off, I sigh and revert to my – if in doubt – 'go to' phrase of... “It's okay. You've got to believe me that things, they really are okay.”

Swallowing the pills with a mouthful of water, Will gives me a sad look as he hands me back the glass and shakes his head. “I wish I had your confidence,” he murmurs, swinging his legs up on to the mattress and lying down. “Right now though, I... I just wish it, the memories and the embarrassment, would stop. They... I... I just feel so... numb...”

“Seeing as though those pills are a special concoction from the IMF infirmary and, from what I've heard, could stop a rhinoceros in its tracks, you'll be out before you know it,” I reply, hiding my own misery at seeing Will like this behind a smile as I smooth the bedding up over him and, leaning forward, kiss his forehead. “It's okay, Will. You'll get through this, you'll see...”

“I...” Pulling his hand out from under the blankets, Will reaches for mine and squeezes it weakly as, the pills already doing their thing, he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Thank you. I know I don't deserve you, but... Ethan... Thank you for never making me feel like...” The quick acting nature of the sleeping pills getting the better of Will, he falls abruptly silent as his hand drops away from mine and his eyes slip shut.

Relieved, almost pitifully so, that his unexpected evening from hell has finally come to an end and that he's now – please God, let it be peacefully – asleep, I carefully return his arm under the bedding and, after turning the lamp on the bedside table on and the overhead lights off, walk out of the room.

My number one goal, now that Will's safely ensconced in bed and sound asleep, being to identify the mother fucker – who did this to him – from the gallery, I forget all about the fact that I'm still all but dripping wet from my fully clothed shower and am thinking nothing of simply marching over to Jane in the hope of her having some answers for me when, as luck would have it, two things happen simultaneously. Jane looks up from her computer and, clearly startled by my appearance, the smile she'd been about to give me by way of a greeting dies a sudden death on her lips and she stares at me open-mouthed as Benji walks through the door and, immediately taking his cue from Jane, just gazes at me as though he's never seen anything quite like it before.

“Ethan, you... You're all wet,” Benji announces, sharing a – 'well, surely you have to know what's going on here' – look with Jane as he takes a hesitant step towards me. “Is there a leak somewhere?”

“There's no leak,” I reply with a shrug as I both rue my timing and idly wish that I'd taken the time to dry myself off. “Just... Don't worry...”

“Why are you all wet, Ethan?” Jane queries coolly as, giving me a suspicious look, she stands up and begins to walk over to the suite's main bedroom. “Benji,” she adds, glancing at him over her shoulder and gesturing towards his room, “you go get something for him to put on while I get a towel.”

“Get something for him to put on?” Benji repeats, his expression one of almost comical confusion as he looks first at me, and then over to Jane. “Like what? I mean, are we going anywhere? If I know we're having to go somewhere it'll make a difference to...”

“We're not going anywhere, are we, Ethan?” Jane interrupts as she pauses in the doorway to the bathroom and fixes me with a look.

“No. We're not going anywhere.” Sighing, I walk over to the coffee-table and, not wanting to run the risk of them disappearing with the shirt into the hotel's laundry system, start to take off my cuff-links. “Look, I'm...”

“All wet,” Jane finishes flatly as she once again gestures for Benji to get a move on. “I don't know what's going on here, but, trust me, I have every intention of getting to the bottom of it. Now... Benji, as I couldn't care less what you get him, just grab the first thing you come to.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Nodding, although he doesn't look any more sure of proceedings than he did when he first walked in to the suite, Benji hurries into his bedroom as Jane disappears into the bathroom. Alone, and unable to shake the feeling that this is just the calm before the storm, I finish taking my cuff-links off and have just placed them in the middle of the coffee-table when Jane returns and throws a towel at me.

“I hope you realise you've got some explaining to do,” she mutters, folding her arms across her chest and watching me closely as I pull off my tie and throw it down onto the floor before beginning to undo the buttons of my shirt. “And where's Will? I'm surprised he let you...”

“Will's asleep,” I mutter, shrugging out of my shirt and letting it join the tie on the floor. “And... Don't ask.”

“What do you mean, don't ask? Of course I'm going to ask. Just... What's going on, huh?” Frowning, Jane sinks down on to the sofa. “If something has happened to Will...”

“Will, he... He's okay. He's asleep now, and... he's okay,” I reply, roughly beginning to dry myself as Benji, with a small bundle of clothes clutched to his chest, walks out of his room and makes his way over towards the coffee-table.

“Yeah, like that answer is going to put my mind at rest,” she retorts with a scowl. “Something is clearly up, and...”

“Hopefully these will be okay,” Benji states, shooting Jane an apologetic look for daring to talk over the top of her as he drops his bundle down on to the table. “Seeing as you said we weren't having to go anywhere, Ethan, I thought pyjamas would be okay, and...”

“I'm sure whatever you've got for me will be fine, Benji,” I reply dismissively as, without really paying any attention to what I'm grabbing, I pick up a dark green t-shirt and pull it on. “See? It's fine.”

“You say that without having seen the pants,” Jane smirks, airily waving her hand at the table as, it clearly getting too much for her, she starts to laugh. “Good one, Benji.”

“What do you mean?” Benji protests, picking up the – at first glance, pale blue – pants and shaking them out so that I can't miss the fact they're actually covered with a print of Captain America's shield. “They were the first clean pair of pants that I came to.”

“Of course they were.” Still snickering to herself, Jane stands up and, taking the pants from Benji, holds them up for a closer look. “They're... They're just great, they really are.” Holding them out to me, she starts to laugh even harder. “There you go... uh... Cap...”

Snatching the pants from Jane, I somehow manage to grind out, “They're fine,” over my shoulder as, not needing an audience for putting the damn things on, I stalk in to the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. Knowing both that I've got no-one to blame for this other than myself and that – astonishingly enough – even Captain America pyjama pants would have to be better than sitting around in wet tuxedo trousers, I strip off, and, once I've finished drying myself, pull them on before plastering on my very best impression of a neutral expression and returning to the room.

“Looking good, Cap,” Jane smirks, giving my shoulder a pat as she walks back over to the dining table and sits down.

“If you must know, the only reason I've even got them is because they were out of stock of Iron Man,” Benji mutters as, making a very deliberate point of not looking at me, he walks over and takes a seat at the dining table. “I'm sorry, Ethan. If you'd like I could...”

“Given that what I'm wearing just happens to be the least of my concerns at the moment,” I declare, going over to stand behind Jane in order to be able to see the laptop screens, “trust me, Benji, they're fine. Possibly not my first choice, but they'll do the job.”

“Speaking for myself, I think they're just perfect,” Jane murmurs possibly a little too sweetly. “But... Enough hilarity for the moment. Ethan, just what the hell gives, huh?”

“I still don't see anything wrong, or... or funny... about them myself,” Benji mutters, pouting as he gets what I swear is going to be the last word on the damn pyjama pants in.

“What were you able to pick up on my guy?” I demand, all but ignoring Benji entirely as, closing my hands around the back of it, I lean over Jane's chair and stare pointedly at the laptop.

Shrugging, she swipes her finger across the touch-pad in order to clear away the screen saver and points at what is now a full screen photograph of the prick from the gallery. “His name's Paul Spencer,” she replies, “and... he's a nobody. I'm telling you, he's as clean as a whistle and of no interest to us whatsoever. What, however, is of far more interest is the fact that the Tate Modern have come out and publicly stated that they want the Basquiat for their collection. How hilarious is that, huh? An actual art gallery is going to be bidding against all those arms dealers for the same painting.”

“Hilarious,” I retort, dragging a chair next to Jane's and taking a seat in it. “Oh, and for the record, I'll decide whether Spencer's of interest to us or not.”

“But...”

“Tell me everything you found out about him.”

“I still think he's a nobody,” Jane mutters, giving Benji an odd look over the top of the computer screen, “but, fine, whatever. Adrian Spencer is a fifty-five year old Englishman. He was born in to old family money and makes his living from running a successful wine importing business. Never married, he lives on an estate near Canterbury in Kent that he likes to fill with both modern art and old cars. His criminal record stretches as far as having had a couple of speeding tickets and that, seriously, is it. You now know as much about Spencer as I do.”

“A wine importer, huh,” I scowl. “Don't tell me, let me guess, most of his stock comes from France and... he's a very hands on kind of guy that frequently crosses the Channel to do business in Paris... personally.”

“Actually... You're right.” Her expression one of obvious surprise, Jane leans back in her chair and fixes me with a cool – 'I'm on to you' – look. “He goes to Paris pretty much fortnightly. How'd you know?”

“I'm just special that way.” So special that it all makes perfect fucking sense to me now. Rich, used to both a life of privilege and never having to hear the word 'no', and thinking that he can do whatever he likes to whoever he likes is probably just second nature to him. See. Want. Take.

“Special, huh?”

“Oh yeah...” I sigh and, not wanting to look at Spencer's smug, offensive face for a second longer, reach out and close the laptop. “Really fucking special.” 

“Care to explain?” Jane queries, locking her gaze on mine as, stretching out her hand, she trails her fingers along my arm. 

“Not really, no.”

“But you're going to, anyway.”

“I...”

“Spill, Ethan. Don't make me test my interrogation techniques out on you.”

“Wow. That... That's actually some threat,” Benji pipes up as, looking decidedly lost as to what it is that seems to be going on here, he gives me a wan smile and shrugs. “Having seen her in action, Ethan, I think you'd do well to... uh... spill.”

“You heard the man,” Jane states, giving my elbow a flick with her finger. “It... It's got something to do with Will, hasn't it? That Spencer guy, he's got something to do with Will.”

Sighing, I lean back in my chair and, running my fingers through my hair, gaze up at the ceiling. “Think about it,” I murmur. “Frequent trips to Paris, Will's... reaction... to having met him at the gallery...”

“Bastard!” Jane exclaims as, never being one to hold back, she gives the leg of the table a vicious kick. “You're telling me that... that bastard...”

“Was a regular at the club, yes,” I finish with yet another sigh as, the penny finally dropping, Benji gasps in shock. “He was a Goddamn regular at the club Will was kept at, and... and that's all I'm going to say on the subject, so... So don't ask for any more details.”

… As really, knowing what little I do of them myself is bad enough.

“Oh, trust me, I wasn't going to,” Jane replies, giving me the sort of look that clearly tells me she's offended that I'd so much as... think... she'd ever ask such a thing. “Just... Shit! Spencer mightn't be of interest in respect to the damn mission, but... Shit! Poor Will. I don't even want to begin to imagine how horrible seeing the bastard must have been for him, or... or just what it was you had to go through before being able to get him in to bed. I...” Trailing off, she gives the table leg another kick and stands up. “So... Who are you going to call in to take over the mission?”

“We're not calling in anyone to take over the mission,” I respond, swivelling around in my seat so that I can better face her as she leans against the wall by the bathroom door. “This is our mission and... we finish what we start.”

“You... What?” Narrowing her eyes, Jane glares at me and shakes her head. “You've got to be fucking kidding me! How... For God's sake, Ethan, how can you sit there and calmly declare that we're going to finish this bullshit mission when...”

“We finish what we start,” I repeat, returning her glare with one of my own. I don't want to be saying it. Of course I don't. But it's just how it is. This is our mission and, having so carefully set it up, what it also happens to be is ours to finish. Do I want Will to ever lay eyes on Spencer – or vice versa – again? Hell, no. Of course I fucking don't. Seeing Will like he was in the shower breaks... my brain as much as it does my heart, and I hate knowing that I can't really do anything for him. Not in the way that I'd like, anyway. I can't take back time and stop any of it from ever happening anymore than I can just wave a magic wand and erase all of his memories, and... I hate it. I just fucking hate it. Will means everything to me and knowing that I'm going to have drag him back to the gallery, and most likely put him in Spencer's path in the process, tomorrow night for the auction just... bites. It bites big fucking time. If I could put him, and even Jane for that matter, on the first plane back to the States in order to protect them from all of this I'd do so both happily and without hesitation. 

But I can't.

We've started this, and now, regardless of the personal cost, we have to finish it.

It's just what we do.

“Not in this fucking instance we don't,” Jane retorts, her glare changing to an expression of disgust. “Will doesn't need...”

“You're right, he doesn't. But...”

“No! You're not listening to me. We have to hand this crap over to another team as you can't, you just fucking well... can't... take him back in there!”

“And yet, I'm going to. Jane... Look. You're right. This is bullshit. Of course I don't want that asshole anywhere near Will, but... It's not as though he's in any danger, and...”

“Any danger? Fuck you, Ethan! I thought he meant more to you than that.”

“What are you talking about? Do you... honestly... think I'd willingly put him in any danger?”

“There's... danger... from creepy perverts with a warped idea of a good time, and then there's... danger... from not being able to cope with... with the fear, or... or the memories! You know as well as I do that Will can't just... switch off... and...”

“Of course I know how Will's mind operates!” I snap, abruptly standing up and striding across the room to position myself directly in front of Jane. “ In case you missed it, I was there when he lost it, and... And for all your lecturing of me you don't even know what the bastard put him through!” Scowling, I ignore the little voice in the back of my head that's telling me I'm behaving like an asshole and, wanting to put this to bed once and for all, jab my finger at Jane. “So... Get off your fucking high horse and just get your head around the fact that the plan hasn't changed. Will was with me tonight at the gallery as my accountant, and... that, by my side and doing his job, is where he'll be for the auction.”

“As your accountant-slash-slave?” Jane sneers, smacking my hand away as, wanting to make sure I'm fully aware that she's not bothered by my proximity, she draws herself up to her full height. “Surely Spencer seeing something in him other than just an... accountant... should be enough of a reason to...”

“Actually,” Benji interjects with both obvious hesitation and a weak smile, “there'd be no reason for his cover to have been questioned at all. Just because Spencer... uh... thinks he's something other than just an accountant doesn't really have to matter at all. Just... Think about it. Even if... uh... Ethan here did keep him as a... uh... pet, there's no reason he couldn't have a day job as an accountant as well... Right? I mean, he'd be more... uh... bang for your buck... that way...”

“You... Are... Not... Helping,” Jane grinds out, turning her – if looks could kill – gaze on Benji as, realising the error of his ways for having dared to speak up, he cringes and stares down at the tabletop. “Bang for your buck? Seriously, Benji. Do you even think before you open your mouth?”

“I... Uh... Shit! I didn't mean it like that at all. Ethan, you... Oh God, you know I didn't mean anything when I said...”

“It's fine, Benji,” I mutter, shooting Jane a warning look. “I knew exactly what you meant and... It's okay. Everything's okay.”

“You have a fucked definition of okay,” Jane retorts as, suddenly looking far wearier than she did only a moment ago, she slumps back against the wall and sighs. “I just... Shit, Ethan. I just want Will to be okay, you know, and I can't see how this could possibly be good for him.”

“That's because it isn't,” I reply, softening my own stance as, hoping that the worst of it is now over, I reach out my hand and place it on Jane's shoulder. “Of course it isn't. The damage though, I hate to say it, but it's already done. Seeing Spencer and having him both come up to him and bring back all the horrific memories, that's in the past now and there's nothing any of us can do about it. Going back in tomorrow night, I'm not saying it'll be easy for Will, but, again, the damage is already done and seeing him again won't make things any worse. He'll know that he's safe, and... what he'll also know is that it's just something he has to do.”

“Well, he shouldn't have to do it,” Jane murmurs, tilting her head back and gazing at some random point above my head. “I... I get what you're saying, of course I do, but I just don't like it.”

“And you think I do?” 

“No, but...”

“I hate it. I hate seeing Will like this, and I hate knowing what that prick did to him. But... This is what we do. Jane...” I probably shouldn't be about to say this, but I just don't know how else to get it through to her that at one time or another we've all, each and every one of us, put a mission ahead of both our own wishes and, in more than a few cases, needs. “Will having to face up to being in the same gallery as Spencer, it... it's not really any different to you seeing the mission through when, really, you wanted to be at Hana... uh... Trevor's funeral.”

Lowering her head, Jane looks at me through eyes bright with unshed tears. “You're wrong,” she whispers. “It's a lot different. Trevor's dead, and not being able to attend his funeral wasn't going to change that. Will, though, he's alive and I... I can't bear the thought of him suffering any more than he already has! Especially... Oh God.... Especially not over something that's my own fucking fault!”

“Whoa... What do you mean it's your fault? Of course it's not your fault.” Although Jane, unless it's on her terms and she's the one initiating it, would have to be the least touchy-feely of the team, I throw caution to the winds and, wrapping my arms around her, just hug her to me. “Hey... Shhh... It's okay.”

“It's not okay,” Jane counters, sighing as, after a few seconds of token resistance, she relaxes against me. “Will was only at the gallery because of me. If I'd... manned up... and done my job, he...”

“And it was Will that made that call, not you,” I interrupt as, despite knowing that in a way Jane's actually right, that none of this would have happened if we'd all just stuck with the original plan, I could no more lay the blame at her feet than Will would. At the end of the day, it's just one of those sad little twists of fate. No one saw it coming, it could have been far worse, and here we just are. “Hey... Come on. He saw that you were struggling and, while he knew full well that you'd keep going if you had to, he decided to do the nice thing by giving you an out. You didn't make him, and he didn't have to speak up. But... He did...”

“That... That's just it! Will's nice and I... I'm horrible! I was so busy thinking of the date that I should have had with Trevor that I let him go in my place, and... And look what happened!”

“But... It's okay. We're all still here, our covers are intact, and Will... He'll be okay. You know how strong he is. Just as you know that we're all here for him, like... like he was there for you earlier. So... Shhh... Getting yourself worked up over things isn't going to achieve anything.”

“Nor is looking at that photograph of Spencer with an expression on your face as though you'd quite like to tear him apart with your bare hands,” Jane mutters, straightening up a little in my arms and giving me a wan smile, “but you still seemed as though you were giving it your best shot.”

“That's because a part of me... would... like to tear him from limb to limb,” I reply, loosening my hold on Jane but making no move yet to pull completely away. “He's a mother fucker of quite incredible proportions and, without even knowing him, I hate him in a way that I haven't hated anyone since Salter, but... He is what he is, just as... This is what it is. Now...” Releasing her from my embrace, I – solely because I know it pushes her buttons – ruffle her hair and, as she bats my hand away, smile. “How about you just go and get some sleep, yeah? Benji and I can get a head start on...”

“Actually, Benji and... I... will get a start on working through the list of contenders,” Jane states, returning my smile with a grim one of her own as, taking a step back from me, she looks pointedly over my shoulder. “You've got somewhere you need to be.”

“Uh...” Knowing full well that she means in bed with Will, I shrug and, as yet another unwanted thought comes out of nowhere to take up residence in my head, try to fob her off by walking back over to the dining table. “As I'm not too sure about that, I'm fine to...”

“What do you mean... not too sure?” Jane interrupts, following me over to the table and, just on the off chance I was thinking of taking a seat on it, closing her hands around the back of the chair set up in front of the screens. “Look. As we've got this, just go and be with Will.”

“Seeing as he's taken a couple of sleeping pills, he won't know whether I'm there or not, so...”

“So... nothing. Come on, Ethan. Why are you hesitating?”

“I...” Sighing, I hang my head and, although I don't particularly want to, reluctantly come clean. “I don't know. He... He was so distraught that I'm thinking he mightn't even want me there, that he might just be better off alone.”

“Crap he'd be better off alone, and... crap... he wouldn't want you there,” Jane declares, looking over at Benji, as clearly not wanting to be any part of what's going on, he continues to sit, strangely silent at the dining table, and rolls her eyes in a display of long sufferance. “While I kind of get where you think you're coming from, you're talking crap, Ethan, and you know it.”

“But what if...”

“If Will wakes up and... finds your presence to be an unwanted shock, you'll... know about it. He'll flinch, or twitch, or... do that God awful impression of a bunny in the spotlight that he's so good at and which, if you're on the receiving end of it, makes you feel as though you're the reincarnation of Hitler...” Pausing, she looks at me expectantly. “You do, of course, know the one I'm talking about, yeah?”

“Uh...” I nod. “Sadly, yeah, I know the one you're talking about.”

“I thought, seeing as even Benji over there knows the one I'm talking about, you would,” she continues, really warming to her theme now as she places her hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face the bedroom. “Now... Where was I? That's right. While you'll know it if Will doesn't want you there, what you won't know... if you're... not... there... is whether he did actually want you there and that, by not actually being there, you've just done the wrong thing anyway...”

“Huh? What are you...”

“Think about it. If Will wakes up alone there's every chance that he'll put it down to having... offended you somehow. That, or he might even think that he disgusts you, and... You'll never know. He won't tell you, or come out and ask why you weren't there. He'll just make up a reason in his head and...”

“You win! I give up,” I declare as, accepting that she is actually right and that messing with our usual sleeping arrangements would probably be about the worst – even if I did think I had his best interests at heart – thing I could do for Will at the moment, I spin around and deliver a quick kiss to her cheek. “I'll sleep where I normally sleep, but...”

“Benji and I have got this,” Jane repeats, cutting me off and, with a shove to my back, sending me on my way. “We mightn’t be able to read Will's notes, but we can get on with both what I, and the facial recognition software, was able to identify, and... Go on. I know you probably don't believe it, but in a way your night has been as bad as Will's has...”

She's right. I don't believe it. But, having had enough of it for one night, nor am I going to argue with her. “Good night, Jane,” I murmur, glossing over her last statement in favour of just taking my leave. “You too, Benji. I'll see you both in the morning.”

“Night, Ethan,” Benji replies, giving me a small wave as he moves his chair closer to Jane's. “As Jane said, we've got this.”

“Good night, Ethan,” Jane adds, making impatient... shooing... gestures towards the bedroom. “Now... Move! Don't make me chase you...” 

“With a threat like that, as if I'd do anything... other... than move,” I mutter under my breath as, smiling to myself, I open the door and walk in to the bedroom. Will, as I pretty much expected would be the case, hasn't moved from the position I left him in and, after shutting the door, I walk over to the bed and carefully climb in beside him under the bedding. Closing my eyes, I make myself comfortable around Will and, for the first time in what feels like hours, finally feel some small semblance of peace settle over me.

Yes. Things could be better. They could be a lot better.

But this...

This is our version of normalcy. Will's body, warm and reassuringly familiar against mine, and...

… Together.

We're together, the rest of our – family – team is on the other side of the wall, and for a few brief hours at least, nothing else has to matter.

~*~*~*~

While it's not something I would have felt safe betting my life on, let alone even considered possible, I somehow manage to sleep soundly and don't wake until there's both dull light filtering in through the drapes and the aroma of fresh coffee wafting in from under the door. Not wanting to disrupt Will, who still doesn't appear to have moved and, from the looks of things, is still sound asleep, I gingerly lift my head off the pillow and peer over him to the clock radio on his bedside table where, much to my surprise, I read that it's already past nine in the morning. Which, in turn, means that I've not had much less than Will's ten hours of sleep and that, if the pills are keeping to what I've been led to believe is their normal timetable, he should be joining me in being awake in only a couple of minutes or so.

Resting my head back down on the pillow, I keep, despite really feeling in need of a good stretch, my arms around Will, close my eyes, and, not feeling any great urge to think about what the day's going to bring, just listen to him breathe. You'd think I'd be used to it now, given that he's been a very important part of my life for eighteen months, not to mention quite a... constant... part of it for the last twelve, but it still takes me aback just how much Will means to me. I've been, or at least I used to think that I had, in love before. Caught in the moment, and thinking he or – in most, keeping up appearances cases – she was 'The One', I was convinced that the love I was feeling at the time was real. The sort of love both my parents and my grandparents had enjoyed and which I'd grown up aspiring to one day have.

Only it never was.

Not even close, in fact.

The sex might have been fantastic, and I might have started to kid myself that I could – absolutely, one-hundred percent – turn my back on the rest of my life and make a go of it, but...

I couldn't.

I couldn't, regardless of how much I might have wanted to, or even how much effort I might have put in to it, change myself in to something I'm not simply in the name of love. Nor could I spend the rest of my life lying about the true nature of my job and how, albeit in an admittedly clinical way, it really is a very important part of who I am.

What I wanted, what I thought I could never have, was the best of both worlds. Love, honesty, and... IMF. I thought though that it would be impossible, that there was no way I'd ever be able to have it all.

Yet...

With Will, that's what I've got.

IMF. Honesty. And, most gloriously of all, love.

Just as he doesn't have to hide anything from me, there isn't a thing I need to keep from him and, really, we can just be ourselves with each other. No secrets or lies, just complete understanding and comfort.

I've even taken him back to the farm – and I still don't know who was more surprised by this out of the blue event, me, Will, or them – to meet what's left of my family.

He just means... that... much to me.

Everything.

He means everything to me.

And, I swear to God, if Spencer so much as looks sideways at him tonight I'm not going to take it well. While it's one thing to toe the party line and accept that the mission has to come first, it's another thing to just stand by and... take it. I'm not Will's keeper, and I know he's more than capable of looking after himself, but...

He's mine.

Mine to protect, and mine to get through each and every day.

Just as... I'm his, and I know he feels exactly the same way about me as I do about him.

“Hey there,” Will mumbles sleepily as, pleased that he's finally awake, I open my eyes and – the moment of reckoning being upon us – greet him with a tentative smile. To my decided relief though he seems both perfectly unbothered by, and accepting of, my presence and, so long as I ignore the lateness of the hour and the events of last night, everything really does – thankfully – seem the same as it does every morning.

“Good morning,” I murmur, increasing the wattage of my smile as I lean over and kiss the tip of his nose.

“What's so good about it?” Will grumbles as, yawning, he blinks me in to focus. “I feel as though there's an elephant... no... make that... two... elephants sitting on me, and... I'm not entirely sure I'm even going to be able to lift my head off the pillow any time soon, so... I ask you again, what's so good about it?”

“Ah... That'd be the pills,” I reply apologetically. “Sorry. I may not have mentioned it last night, but they're a... special... mix from the infirmary that, I think, take a little more to wake up from than your average sleeping pill.”

“Special mix, huh... Just... Of what exactly? That quick acting stuff we have in the knock-out rings, and... What? Anaesthetic?”

“Something like that,” I murmur, pleased that, although he may be feeling a little heavy headed and limbed, Will's still clearly both alert enough, and in a good enough mood, for a spot of banter. “It did the job though, didn't it?”

“Given that the last thing I remember was you smoothing the bedding over me and kissing my forehead before everything just went... blank,” Will responds, stifling another yawn, “yes... I think you could say that it definitely worked. One second I'm awake and feeling sorry for myself, and the next... I'm awake and... feeling as though I'm playing the role of... an elephant sofa!” 

“An elephant sofa, huh?”

“Oh... You have no idea.”

“No dreams, though?”

“No. No dreams.” Sighing, Will closes his eyes and very gingerly rolls on to his back. “Which means...” Opening his eyes, he blinks up at the ceiling and sighs again. “It really happened, didn't it? I... I really lost it...”

Sitting up, I lean back against the bedhead and, shaking my head, smile down at him. “You didn't lose it at all.”

“Uh... Seeing as the one thing the pills don't seem to have had any impact on is my memory, I beg to differ,” Will replies, slowly pulling his hand out from under the bedding and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Showering in a tux? I hate to break this to you, but... that's not exactly normal.”

“Granted, I'll give you that,” I murmur, shrugging, “but... Think about it. You... losing it, did it have any effect on the mission?”

“What? I... Uh... I don't think so,” Will responds dubiously as, having done with pinching his nose for the time being, he moves on to rubbing his fingers against his temple. “That is, I really hope that it didn't.”

“It didn't,” I confirm, taking his hand in mine and squeezing it. “No-one at the gallery saw you... losing it... and that's because you managed to keep a lid on it until we were away from prying eyes and back here. So... If you must know, to my way of thinking, you didn't actually lose it at all.”

“Have I ever told you that I like the way you think?” Will replies with a half smile as he squeezes my hand back and, with obvious effort, sits up. “I... I am sorry though...”

“Don't,” I command softly, letting go of his hand and touching my finger lightly to his lips. “As I'm sure I said last night, you've got nothing to apologise for. You're only human, Will, and I completely understand why seeing that bastard again effected you the way that it did, but... Just think about it. You never, not for a second, jeopardised either our cover or the mission and, again, seriously... You've got absolutely nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn't have let him get to me like he did,” Will mutters, giving me a rueful look before dropping his gaze and busying himself with picking at a tiny piece of thread on the bed cover. “Do... I'm quite sure I don't actually want to know, but... Do we know who he is?”

“To use Jane's favourite word to describe him,” I reply, knowing that I have to be having this conversation with Will but, at the same time, really wishing that I didn't, “he's a nobody. A nobody that just happens to have the name of Paul Spencer. Family money, lives in Kent, runs a wine importing business, and... of no interest to us whatsoever.”

“While... interest... is hardly the best word to use, I wish he was of no interest to me either,” Will whispers, his expression clouding over as, giving up his assault on the poor unfortunate thread, he folds his arms across his chest and stares fixedly in front of him. “I... I know that I'm safe, that... he'll never be able to do any of those things to me again, but... Just seeing him and... uh... hearing his voice again, it... it's brought it all crashing back. I... think of him and... I... I remember everything, and...”

“It's okay, it is,” I interrupt, shifting closer to Will and draping my arm around his slumped shoulders. “You're... okay. And... You're right. He's never going to touch you ever again. I'm sorry that you had to see him, and God knows I wish you hadn't, but...”

“I'm going to get to see him again tonight,” Will finishes, resting his head down on my shoulder and sighing. “And... Before you apologise or... feel compelled to justify or... whatever, I knew this would have to be the case even before we left the gallery, and I... I'm fine with it. Uh... Not fine as in... looking forward to it or anything, but... I know why it has to happen, and I... I know, contrary to the way I behaved back here last night, that I'll be safe. It... It's just what we do...”

“It's just what we do,” I repeat flatly. “I'm not going to deny wishing there was another way, but...”

“Having made our bed this way, now we have to lie in it.”

“Pretty much, yeah...” Tightening my arm around Will, I rest the side of my head against his and somehow, don't ask me how, manage not to sigh. “I'm sorry that it has to be this way, and, please, whatever you do don't get Jane started on it, but... You'll only have to see him. That's all. Uh... And I'm not trying to be facetious, or make light of it or anything, as I'm not, I... wouldn't, but... Spencer, he's not our concern and I will personally make sure that he never gets anywhere near you.”

“I know you will. Just as I hope... you... know that even if the sick creep did manage to get near me, I... I'd be able to cope,” Will murmurs, sitting up a little straighter and giving me a grim, and I suspect somewhat... forced, smile. “I hate him, and both my stomach clenches and my skin crawls just thinking about him, but I... I'm a professional, and I know what's expected of me. So... I'll be your accountant tonight, and we'll dutifully identify the buyer of the virus, and... that'll be that. It... It's okay, Ethan, and while I know you don't want to hear it, I really am sorry about last night. Not... before you jump down my throat... for losing it like I did, but for worrying you. I'm sorry that you had to see it, but I... What I also am is... uh... glad that you were there...”

“Like I'd be anywhere else,” I reply, my breath catching in my throat as I squeeze my hand around his upper arm. “But... Please. No more apologies. What happened... happened, and now we've just got to get through today.”

“Actually... first I've got to get these damn invisible elephants off me and somehow get out of bed,” Will mutters, flashing me a far more genuine looking smile this time as, having accepted that it's time to move on, he does just that. “Those pills... While they definitely did the job, and as I don't think I would have been able to sleep without them I... am... grateful for them, but... Shit! I'm telling you now that you wouldn't want to take them and then be expected to be all... up and at 'em... the following morning.”

“Rumour has it...”

“Rumour? You're not sitting there telling me you've never... experienced...”

“The elephants for myself? Uh... No. I haven't.”

“Then why on earth do you carry them around in your bag?”

“Because a doctor gave them to me once, and... Uh... Once a boy scout, always a boy scout?”

“Fine, fine. Or, to put it another way, always be prepared for when the resident nut-job in your life loses his shit and needs knocking out...”

“Now you're getting it.”

“Ha! Charming.”

“You're not just any nut-job though,” I murmur, delivering a lingering kiss to Will's cheek before pulling my arm away from his shoulders and swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. “You're... my... nut-job, the one I just happen to love and, simply because I'm a caring and sharing sort of guy, the one I'm about to offer my services to in order to help you stand up...” Pausing, I get to my feet and, after stretching, begin to walk around the bed. “Rumour, and this is what I'd been going to get to a moment ago if you hadn't cut me off, has it that you start to feel better once you're out of bed and moving.”

“Yeah, well... I'll believe it when...” Trailing off, Will's eyes light up as, grinning broadly and quite possibly trying hard not to laugh, he gestures down at my legs. “Oh my God... Ethan, why are you...”

“If the question's going to be... Why am I wearing Captain America pyjama pants,” I interrupt, coming to a stop by his side of the bed and striking a pose, “then the answer, apparently, is because there were no Iron Man ones left in stock.”

“Oh... Of course...” Shaking his head, Will gives up on holding in his amusement and just starts to laugh happily. “They... I... Benji, yes?”

“Maybe I just happen to like Captain America,” I retort, grinning back at Will and, for the first time since laying eyes on the damn things, feeling beyond thankful for Benji's taste in pyjama pants. I mean, given the obvious – music to my ears – pleasure Will's getting out of them, they're... more... than okay by me.

“Uh-huh. That's it. You're just a closet Captain America fan,” Will snickers, holding his hands out and letting me help him both off the mattress and upright. “I... Thank you.” Still grinning, he sways a little unsteadily on his feet for a second or two before grabbing me in a warm embrace. “Your pyjama pants? They've just made my morning, they really have.”

“Hey, I am to please,” I murmur, hugging Will back and just letting both the humour and the... simplicity... of the moment wash over me. Things mightn't be great, and I'm even more convinced that we really do need a break once this is all over than I was this time yesterday, but what they are is... okay. Will's had a nasty shock, and I fully believe he's as aware of the fact that – as these things just about always seem to do – it'll most likely return to bite us both on the ass before too long as I am, but he's still very much... okay. He knows what he has to do, he's laughing and in my arms, and...

… Together, as we always do, we'll get there.

“I love you, I do, but as much as I'd like to stand here like this, laughing at your... questionable... choice in pyjama pants, all day, I...” Pausing, Will slowly breaks the embrace and gestures down at the floor where his velvet tuxedo jacket is still lying exactly where he dropped it last night in his haste to get in to the shower. “Jane... She'd be taking this pretty badly, wouldn't she...”

“Just a bit.” Stepping back from Will, I look at him closely for a moment before, satisfied that he no longer appears as though he's in any danger of falling down, starting to move towards the door. “I'm sure, though, that she'll feel better once she's seen that you're okay.”

Nodding, Will looks down at his black cotton pyjamas before – possibly, although I could just be imagining things, glancing down at my pants and smirking – shrugging and walking over to join me by the door. “I'll go to her now,” he states without hesitation as he places his hand on the door handle. “Having always been of the opinion though that... uh... such a meeting was inevitable, I don't blame her though and, if I had my time over again, I'd still make the decision to go in her place.”

“All you have to do now is convince Jane of this and things will be just... peachy,” I murmur, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze as, looking nothing if not determined, he pulls the door open and walks out of the room.

“As I can be as determined as you when I set my mind to it,” he replies over his shoulder as I follow him out of the bedroom, “just leave it to me.”

“Will! Ethan! Thank God you're up,” Benji exclaims, alerting us both to the fact – we're not alone – he's standing by a room-service trolley by the dining table. Still dressed in the white shirt and black trousers he'd worn to serve drinks in at the gallery last night, and clearly engrossed in the task of preparing breakfast, he looks so much like a somewhat crumpled butler that I can't help but smirk. “I was beginning to think, seeing as it's so late, that I might have had to... er... look in on you in order to see that everything was okay,” he continues, looking more than a little uncomfortable at the thought. “I mean, I would have... if I'd had to, only... Well... I didn't want to see anything that... uh... I shouldn't have...”

“Like what, Benji?” I query, sharing an amused look with Will as we make our way over to the dining table. “Just... what exactly... did you fear you might have accidentally walked in on?”

“Uh...” Blushing a particularly bright shade of red, Benji quickly pours himself a cup of tea from a silver teapot and gazes down at it as though he'd like nothing more than to just disappear into the pale brown liquid. “You know...”

“Actually... I'm not entirely sure that I... do know.”

“Stop teasing him, Ethan,” Will interjects as, sidling up to Benji, he gently digs his elbow into his ribs. “You mean like... reading poetry, don't you, Benji?”

“Uh... Poetry reading? I...”

“Now who's teasing him, huh?” I mutter, rolling my eyes as I help myself to a fresh cup of coffee from the pot. “Stop looking so worried, Benji,” I add, pouring a splash of milk into my cup and toasting him with it before taking a sip. “As you can see, we're up... and we're fine.”

“You'd been in there for so long that I was just beginning to get a bit worried, that's all,” Benji replies meekly as, still not looking entirely convinced that we're not going to gang up and tease him again, he takes a mouthful of tea and looks down the trolley. “But... Now that you're up, what would you like for breakfast? I've got...”

“Look, Will,” I interrupt, “we've got our very own... Jeeves.”

“Carson, if you don't mind,” Benji corrects.

“Carson?” I look across at Will and shrug. “Sorry. I...”

“Downton Abbey,” Benji adds helpfully as, no doubt expecting better from him, he turns to Will. “You know...”

“Uh...” Will shakes his head and gives me a – 'I have no idea what he's talking about, do you?' – look back across the table. “Sorry, Benji, but I don't know.”

“So much, then, for your theory of it being the polite thing to do to take an interest in what others like,” Benji retorts mock haughtily as he tilts his head in my direction. “Ethan over there, I never expected him to get the reference, but you, Will, I honestly thought you'd get it.”

“Live long and prosper. Exterminate. And... Uh...” Trailing off, he shrugs and smiles. “Avengers assemble? Er... Sorry. But that's me pretty much done.”

“It's okay,” Benji states, grinning as he gives Will a very quick, and very brusque hug. “You still did better than him over there ever would and I'm proud of you for even trying.”

“Trying?” I echo, shaking my head as I once again roll my eyes. “You're both... trying... more like. It's like, I don't know, you're both talking a different language or something.”

“Nah... That'd be Klingon,” Benji mutters, winking at me, “and, hey, even I think it's too early in the morning for Klingon.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” Will murmurs, a slight frown marring his features and wiping the smile from his face as he looks around the room. “Now... Is Jane still in bed?”

“Jane's... in... bed,” Benji replies, glancing over at her bedroom door. “But that's only because I said I'd bring her breakfast in there and that, just for a change, she could have it in bed...” Pausing, Benji – gives every impression of just having experienced one of those... light bulb illuminating... moments in his head – beams brightly at Will and waves him towards the door. “I know! Why don't you go and join her? She'd love to see you and... I know... You can have breakfast in bed too!”

“I...” Looking momentarily surprised than Benji would even dare suggest such a thing – breakfast... in bed... with a woman? – Will blinks and glances at me before, with both a nod and a shrug, beginning to walk over to Jane's room. “Okay,” he states as, opening the door, he disappears into the room.

“I bet you didn't think he'd do that, did you,” I query, moving around the table to join Benji by the other side of the trolley.

“Bet you didn't, either,” Benji retorts, tearing his gaze away from the once again closed door to peer up at me, his expression one of astonishment.

“Actually... No. I didn't,” I reply, “but as they need to talk, I'm actually glad that Will decided to take you up on your offer as I honestly think it'll do them both good.”

“My... spur-of-the-moment, and said pretty much without thinking, offer?”

“Whatever works, I say.”

“Mmm...” Benji takes another sip of his tea before meeting my gaze and giving a small shrug. “We probably should give them a couple of minutes before taking in their breakfast, yeah?”

“At least a couple of minutes,” I agree, shifting around Benji and his trolley and moving to the end of the dining table where all the laptops are set up. “While we wait you can bring me up to speed on what you were able to come up with last night.”

Nodding, Benji puts his cup of tea down and joins me at the end of the table. “We were able to achieve quite a lot, actually,” he states, picking up an iPad and opening up a document, complete with screen shots of the likely suspects, on the screen. “Although we haven't been able to compare our list with Will's yet, we worked through what we did have access to and have been able to rank them in order of... well... likelihood of being able to have the cash to get their paws on the virus. We think, from our list alone, that we've got something like a dozen contenders, of which three, maybe four, stand a far greater chance than the others do. This one...” Pausing, he hands me the tablet and taps his finger down on the image of a hard-faced, Middle-Eastern man with a scar across his left eye. “Abir Bahar. While he hasn't really come to our attention much before, we're thinking he's the one most likely to... uh... succeed. He's got backing from Syrian rebels and, going on his history of the part few months, he's well on the way to making a name for himself.”

“Nuisance of himself, more like,” I mutter, sinking down in the nearest chair and bringing up Bahar's details on the screen as Benji returns to both the room-service trolley and his self-imposed task of getting breakfast for everyone. “Good work, though. While some of the faces I recognise myself, I have no idea how many more Will was able to identify, so...”

“Once we've combined his list with ours we'll be all over it,” Benji finishes. “Get this, though. What Jane mentioned last night about the Tate Modern being interested in the Basquiat? It's true. They had a representative on one of the morning shows and, going on what he was saying, they're pretty determined to get it. What's more, they've got the financial backing, too. They want the Basquiat, the one with the virus attached to the back, of course, and some Warhol one of a blue cat...”

“Sam,” I murmur absent-mindedly as, switching the iPad off and placing it down on the table, I look over at Benji and watch as he pours out two cups of coffee before adding milk to them, and, to one, two teaspoons of sugar, and putting them aside.

“Huh?”

“The blue cat, his name's Sam.”

“Uh... Of course it is.”

“Exactly. Of course it is” Standing up, I retrieve my coffee and, taking a mouthful of it, walk over to join Benji. “Blue cats called Sam aside, though, I hear what you're saying about the Tate's interest in the painting and... You know what? I find it hilarious that all those arms dealers and their intermediaries are going to come up against a cashed up art gallery in their fight for the virus. Sure, it pains me that the seller will end up getting more for it, but... The thought of them having to dig even deeper than they'd been expecting to? That just makes me laugh. It probably shouldn't, but there you go. When art and... arms dealers collide.”

“It certainly adds something to it all, doesn't it,” Benji replies, lifting a pristine white cloth off a plate of croissants and Danish pastries and frowning down at it. “Now... Should we just decide for them and transfer them to smaller plates, or...”

“I say we just take that plate in... as is,” I interject as, backing my words up with action, I put my cup down and, picking the plate up, look pointedly towards Jane's bedroom. “I don't know about Jane, but I'm sure that if I picked for Will I'd only pick the wrong one and that he'd prefer... apple over cherry, so... My vote is to just give 'em the lot and they can make their own choices.”

Picking up his tray with the two cups of coffees on it, Benji glances at me and grins. “He'd still eat it though, you know. Jane, on the other hand, would probably take it as a personal affront though and accuse me of not knowing her at all.”

“So, I take it then that you agree with just giving them the lot?”

“Oh. No question about it.”

Giving Benji a smile of my own, I follow him over to Jane's room and, once he's given the door a token knock with his foot and pushed it open, walk through the doorway behind him. Having, if, that is, I'd really given any thought to it at all, been expecting to find Will perched on the edge of the mattress while Jane lay, propped up by pillows and under the bedding, I'm momentarily... nonplussed... by the fact they're... both... under the covers and that Will has his arm around Jane's shoulders and, for all of a microsecond, don't quite know how to react.

It's not that I'm... jealous, or even... shocked, as I know both how close they are and how much Jane would have needed Will's reassurance that he's okay.

It's just...

Unexpected.

And sweetly innocent.

And...

… Lovely.

It's just incredibly lovely and I almost feel as though Benji and I are interrupting – if not... seeing – something we shouldn't have.

“Breakfast, it is served,” Benji announces, catching my eye and grinning as, saving the slight awkwardness of the moment far better than I ever could, he walks over to the bed and presents the tray to Jane with a flourish. “Would madame care for a cup of coffee?”

“What... madame... would like,” Jane replies, smiling up at Benji as she takes a cup, “is for you two... jokers... to get your own drinks and join us.” Taking the second cup, she hands it to Will and, all the time still smiling, turns her head and looks me in the eye. “Ethan? While there mightn't be any room left... in... the bed, there's still plenty of space... on it, so...”

“Do as the lady said and go and get your drinks,” Will interjects, smiling at me as, looking with obvious interest at the plate of pastries in my hand, he pats the mattress next to him.

“If... you can't beat 'em, join 'em?” Benji suggests hopefully as he starts to head slowly back towards the door. “Ethan?”

Seriously. Only with this group of people would I so much as contemplate sharing breakfast... on bed... with them, but...

Yes.

Absolutely.

I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather do right at this given time.

“Believe it or not,” I state with a laugh as, childishly poking my tongue out at Will, I – equally as childishly – lean over him and put on a bit of a show of handing the plate to Jane so that she can pick the first Danish, “you took the words right out of my mouth...”

~*~*~*~

Easy.

A walk in the park.

A cake walk.

A piece of cake.

I could, I'm sure, go on.

Monitor. Confirm. Do Not Engage. Handover. Retreat.

As missions go, it really is beneath both me and every single member of my team. A rookie, hell even any one of those stuffy, suited dinosaurs who make up the board of directors – and who, I suspect, last worked in the field when Sean Connery was playing Bond on the big screen – could complete it with one eye closed and their hands tied behind their back.

It's just... that... simple.

There's no threat, or adrenaline, and, truth be told, there's not even any real sense of anticipation.

Some gutter-dwelling lowlife with no concept of morals is going to pay a shit-load of money for the formula to a virus that has the capacity to wipe out thousands upon thousands of lives.

And you know what?

Big fucking whoop. 

One gutter-dwelling lowlife is the same as the next gutter-dwelling lowlife in my books and, shocking as this might sound, I don't actually give a fuck which one of them it is that manages to be the successful bidder.

Like, seriously... Who cares?

One gutter-dwelling lowlife will outbid the other fourteen gutter-dwelling lowlifes in the gallery, and... that'll just be that. We'll be all over him like an invisible rash and, all being well, once we've traced him back to the organ grinder yanking his chain we'll apply ourselves to the task of just wiping them both off the face of the earth and, again, that'll be that. We've dotted the i's and crossed the t's, and... it's all just so boring and seemingly without any chance whatsoever of anything coming along to knock us off course that...

… I should be feeling half-comatose. 

Only... I'm not.

I'm bored, not particularly interested in what I'm doing, and yet despite all of this I... honestly can't recall when I last felt so on edge.

In fact, I feel as though I'd quite like to scream.

Or kick something.

Or just turn my back on the whole tiresome mess and leave the gutter-dwelling lowlifes to it.

It's all so civilised, and refined, and affluent, and all-so-very-arty, and...

I don't want to be here.

Hell, right at this given moment in time, there's a lot of things I don't want, actually.

I don't want to be sitting here playing the same, fake-bidding game as those after the virus are. Look the part. Play the role. Never let the mask slip or give anyone around you any reason to think you're anything other than – a fellow art lover, a fellow cashed-up collector – what they assume you are. Place a bid here or there on pieces that, although you're already confident will quickly exceed your budget and you won't actually be stuck with it, show to everyone that you're simply there to add to your art collection and... not for any other possible reason at all. Fake it. Work it.

I don't want to be having to sit idly by and watch a piece of artwork fall in to the hands of some asshole arms dealer whose entire fortune is made up of the suffering of others and who only wants it because of what's contained within the QR code on the back of the frame. Regardless of my own personal opinion – which is, I don't like it at all and would even prefer to have dear old Sam, the blue cat, on my wall than some scrawled mass of colour that just looks like graffiti – on the piece, it still holds historical significance and belongs more in a public gallery like the Tate Modern than it does adorning the wall of some arms dealer. What pisses me off even more is the fact that the buyer, in due course will no doubt be able to profit from the painting just as they will from the formula to the virus. All they'll have to do it sit on it for a few years before putting it up for auction again. So, really, as far as any potential buyer is concerned it's just a win-win situation. Spend up big now, and reap the rewards in the future.

I don't want... this morning to feel like little more than an already distant memory. As strange, and as... out of character... as sitting on Jane's bed and eating pastries might have seemed, there's no denying that it's what we all both needed, and benefited from. It was fun, innocent, and full of laughter. Yet now, not even twelve hours on, it almost seems like a figment of my imagination. Everything sucks so much that... how could it even have happened at all? Maybe... Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part and didn't actually happen... 

I don't want...

No.

Just to mix things up a little, what I... would actually like... is to be able to dedicate myself to my designated role and just why it is I'm even here. I'm a professional, I pride myself in my ability to give everything I do my absolute all, and I'm a loyal, dedicated agent who has always been willing to go above and beyond in the name of IMF. I have my task, I've both prepared and made sacrifices for it, and I appreciate the importance of it. I do. Keeping track of arms dealers who have both access to the cash and a desire for a virus of this nature is imperative. As is making sure we're always aware of the formula's location. Bahar being nothing if not confident, he's already booked on a British Airways flight to Cairo ninety minutes after the auction has scheduled to end and, in turn, I've tasked Benji and Jane with making sure he and the carefully wrapped painting make it to Heathrow without any unscheduled stops before handing the next step of the mission to Aaron Wilson and his team who are already in place at the airport. I know what I'm doing, what's expected of me, and just why it is I'm doing it.

I just can't...

… Concentrate on it, that's all.

I don't, you guessed it, want it to be like this at all, but...

I can't help it.

I honestly can't fucking help it.

I can tell myself to focus. I can even tell myself to just ignore the... elephant – the mother fucking, piece of shit elephant – in the room as, ultimately, he's not my problem.

Only...

I can't ignore him.

And he... is... my problem.

Paul Spencer. He's my...

Fuck.

He's near on my... everything.

From my seat here in the back of the auction, I can see him sitting a couple of rows in front of me and, as far as I'm concerned, it's like he's the only other person in the room. He's both all that I can see and all that I can think about. He's, to once again make use of Jane's favourite term for him, an absolute nobody in relation to the mission and I know full well I shouldn't be paying him any attention at all, but...

I can see him.

And I know what he did to Will. 

I know what, solely for his perverted pleasure, he did to him Paris, and, having had to witness it first hand, what he reduced him to last night.

And I...

… Fucking despise him. I don't care if he's never killed anyone, or that he loves his mother and frequently donates money to animal charities, as to me, he's the biggest asshole in the room. Which, given that I'm here to watch a bidding war between a number of gutter-dwelling lowlife arms dealers for a killer virus, is some sort of fucking achievement all in itself.

I look at Spencer or, as the case may currently be, at the bald patch on the back of his head, and all I can think about is what he put – and is still putting – Will through. Will, who I love and who has taken over from IMF as being my main reason for getting up in the morning, and who never should have had to have endured what Spencer put him through.

Just as, and this too is entirely down to Spencer, he shouldn't be having to endure just what it is he's, entirely by choice and coated in undeniable logic, putting himself through now.

I get why it is he's doing it. I can even fully grasp the logic behind it.

What I can't do though, and it doesn't even matter that I've had a couple of hours now to get my head around it, is make my peace with it.

I just can't.

Not... given what it represents, and especially not given how clearly uncomfortable it's made him.

I can reluctantly acknowledge the logic of it, but I don't like it and, although a successful argument could probably be mounted for it having next to nothing to do with me, it's just adding to my foul mood.

I don't want to be here. I don't want Spencer – to be sucking in oxygen, let alone – sitting in front of me and close to dominating my thoughts. I don't want to be thinking about what Spencer did to Will and just what it's taking out of him to be having to be here with me now. And...

… What I really, really don't want to be thinking about is just what it is Will's wearing around his neck.

I know it's by... choice, and that no-one's forcing him to do it, but it's not right and, at the risk of making it all about me, me, me, I just can't stand it.

A collar.

A simple black leather band complete with de rigueur silver buckle. Worn buckled tightly around the base of the neck and, in the eyes of ninety-nine-percent of the people in the room, solely for reasons of – possibly questionable – fashion. Expensive, although it hardly looks it, and purchased not from a sex shop but from an avant garde designer made popular by the likes of pop stars who are always wanting to give the impression of pushing the boundaries style-wise, it's just... a fashion accessory. Probably not to everyone's taste, but ultimately – to each their own and all that – not worthy of so much as a second glance.

To Spencer though, and possibly even to Will himself, it's... confirmation.

Owned.

Dominated.

Tonight's dress code being more of the smart-casual variety than last night's black tie cocktail party had been, Will, in black jeans, fitted, grey v-neck t-shirt and black leather jacket, doesn't look out of place at all. If I didn't know either Will or the truth behind why it was he was wearing a collar and just saw him for the first time tonight, my only passing thought would be that... he looked good. Fashionable, a little edgy, certainly better dressed than I am in my jeans, white shirt and black suit jacket, and, again, just good, definitely good. 

The thing is though, I know the truth.

I know what the collar represents, and I know that Spencer knows what it represents, and I know what it represents to Will.

If it had been left to me, or, alternatively, if I'd had it in me to successfully counter Will's carefully thought out reasoning, this wouldn't even have been an issue. As it is I gave it everything that I had in me. I may even have pleaded with him to rethink his decision. At the end of the day though it wasn't – contrary to the way I'm carrying on – about me and...

… I gave up.

I didn't want to, but in the end things were just getting too... heated. I was getting louder, Will was getting more and more agitated, and I... just waved that good old white flag of defeat. He'd put the thought into it, made the decision that, yes, because he believed he had to, he could put himself through it, and, with both his own money and without saying a word to anyone that it was what he was planning to do, he went out – with an unsuspecting Jane, who hit up the mini-bar the second they got back to the suite and who made a very deliberate point of making it clear to me that she was an innocent party in it all and had nothing to do with it, in tow – and purchased it. He even, when in my last display of petulant annoyance I refused to help, put it on himself.

He got dressed, buckled the – offending – collar around his neck, and... hasn't looked anyone in the eye since.

It's cowardly of me, but I don't even want to begin to imagine what he must be going through. I doubt it would even matter that he knew that it was both just an act and that he was perfectly safe, as... It's still a collar, and he can still feel it sitting heavily around his neck.

Just as, and I only know this because he let it slip a couple of weeks ago, it was for every single day he was held in captivity. When he first woke up after having been abducted there was a collar in place around his neck, and there it stayed until I took it off, six months later, in the hotel room in Paris.

Collared.

Enslaved.

Trapped.

Will's strong. He's also incredible logical and his thought process behind the damn collar is irrefutable. To everyone else it's just fashion, while to Spencer it's... proof. Proof that Will is the same man he remembers from Paris and that, by having this confirmed, it's not something he has to concern himself with. It's only a small thing, and arguably of no great importance to the mission, but sometimes it's the small, easily overlooked things that can inadvertently end up making all the difference. If, for example, Spencer paid too much attention to Will or, God forbid made something of a scene by trying to have it confirmed once and for all that he's who he thinks he is, others too could end up paying us more attention than we'd like and, well, generally in our line of work that's just one of those things best avoided.

So...

I get it. Part of me, the part that is dedicated to the task and not the relentless mass of dark thoughts circling in my head, even appreciates his thoroughness. Perhaps it's even something I should have thought of myself. Play the role handed to you to the best of your ability, don't leave anything to chance, and, because it's what you do, what you... always... do, just do your job.

And, returning here to my stuck-in-a-rut, repetitive state, I fucking hate it. Or, to really simplify things, I fucking hate Spencer.

Spencer, who...

… Fuck me.

Unless my eyes are playing tricks, I swear the bastard is looking directly over his shoulder at me.

Not at Will.

Me.

And, not only does he have some sort of stupid, smug smirk stretched across his lips, but I also think he's trying to get my attention. 

It's like...

Fuck.

I don't even know... what... it's like. A bad acid trip? Punishment for having wronged someone in a former life? A joke in really poor taste?

The one thing I know for sure though is that it's wrong. Very fucking wrong.

Just...

How dare he?

Scowling, I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from sighing and casually shift my gaze to the auctioneer standing on the small stage set up in front of the rows of seats. Having had far too much practice at masking my true emotions, I know, should anyone other than Spencer be paying me any attention, that on the outside at least I look perfectly calm. Possibly even a little bored. On the insides, however... Shit. That's a different story entirely. My heart is hammering in my chest and my hands are curled so tightly into fists that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. 

Spencer, he...

He thinks I'm his equal. I can see it in his eyes. To Spencer, we're kindred spirits who just happen to share a sadistic appreciation of... flesh.

Of, in this instance...

… Will's flesh.

In a purely professional sense it means that everything we've done to reach this point has worked and that no-one in the room should think we're anything other than what we're portraying. Rich American, whose luck currently seems to be deserting him as he's not managed to be the successful bidder on any of the pieces he's attempted to buy, and his quiet, industrious accountant. Or... rich American... master... with his... pet... masquerading as his accountant. Take your pick. We're whatever you want us to be.

It's just...

It's fucking pathetic, that's what it is, but I've been so busy focussing on my hatred for Spencer and the fact he fully believes that Will really is nothing more than a slave, that... I hadn't stopped to think about what that makes me.

Master. Sadist.

A man right up Spencer's alley.

And... Oh yeah. I hate that, too. I hate Spencer thinking that I'm like him, and I hate, even though I'm not exactly having to do anything to perpetuate it, the thought of him sitting there imagining that I use Will like...

… He has.

He's done things to Will that I... can't even bear to think about, and he's now sitting there thinking that I too have it in me to be so... perverted and cruel... all in the name of, and let's be frank here, getting my rocks off, and...

I hate him. 

Right now I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone in my entire life and the desire to do something about it is near on building up to boiling point. I don't know what exactly, the fact that it would be far from pleasant for the bastard notwithstanding, but the need to do... something, anything... is definitely there. All sorts of logic tells me that I can't, that I shouldn't even be harbouring these sorts of thoughts, but that doesn't stop it – the veil of absolute loathing that can make you capable of anything – from being there. I know there's far, far worse people in the world, and that if he hadn't hurt someone I just happen to care about I probably wouldn't even be bothered to have an opinion on him one way or another, but... As it is though, he... did... hurt, and is still, albeit in a different way, hurting the one person I care about above all others, and that's just all there is to it. Game over.

Willing, through the combined efforts of sheer willpower and years of practice, myself into at least some small semblance of... inner calm, I slowly unclench my fists and am in the process of turning what I can of my attention on to the auctioneer and whatever piece of art it is he's currently calling for bids on when, to my absolute astonishment, I sense the arrival of someone next to me. Not just any... someone, either. No. Of course not. Just having some random stranger, or even a member of the gallery staff sidle up to where I'm sitting at the end of an aisle and hold out what looks to be a business card towards me wouldn't be fitting with how things are currently going at all. Okay. Fine. I don't know the man's name, or even the first thing about him. For all I know he could have a great sense of humour and be a complete pleasure to be around. To go back to how Jane first referred to Spencer last night though, he's just a nobody. Of no interest to the mission and if it wasn't for the person he's here with, and who I just know has to have sent him to make contact with me for some reason that I'm not really wanting to contemplate, he wouldn't be of any interest to me either.

Only...

While he might be a nobody, he's... Spencer's... nobody.

Or, as I imagine, his pet du jour.

Of average height and on the scrawny side of slim, the man, who wouldn't be more than thirty and who's blandly attractive in a boy-next-door sort of way with his closely cropped blond hair and too – courtesy, I suspect of contact lenses – blue eyes, had been sitting next to Spencer the last time I'd paid him any attention and to have him next to me now is nothing short of disconcerting. Dressed – far more overtly than Will – in tight black leather trousers, biker boots and a sheer black shirt that shows off the heavy silver, choker-style chain around his neck, pierced nipples and truly uninspired tribal tattoo across his shoulders, he looks out of place amongst everyone else at the gallery and I don't think it's just paranoia on my part that has me thinking there can really be only one reason he's here with someone like Spencer. Maybe I'm wrong, perhaps I'm even completing my very own character assassination of the man and reading things between the lines that aren't even there, but... I just doubt it, that's all. He's here with Spencer, looks young enough to be his son and, going on the way he's surreptitiously holding the business card out towards me without once opening his mouth or doing anything else to get my attention, he's clearly playing the role of a messenger on behalf of the bastard.

Knowing that I have to take the card from him or risk making, however minor, a scene and drawing attention to myself, I snatch it out of his hand and gaze down at it. Matte black and with what little writing on it being both embossed and in gold, the card, at first glance, is just exactly what it looks like. A business card for for Paul Spencer ~ Wine Importer. Phone and fax numbers, along with an email address run along the bottom of the card and I suppose, if I actually gave a fuck, which, oddly enough, I don't, you could call it elegant in its simplicity of design.

But, you know, whatever. Thanks to Jane's research I already have access to all of his contact details and didn't need them confirmed on a small piece of cardboard. Besides, it's not exactly as though I'm ever going to feel the urge to just pick up the phone and have a quick chat with him, or, for that matter, send him a few Lolcats or allegedly funny Youtube links through email. It's just, and as things to be bet-your-life-on certain go this one really is a given, not going to happen.

Suspicious as to why Spencer's felt compelled to send his pet over to give me his card, I turn it over...

… And just as I did last night, see every shade of red there is.

I just...

Fuck me. The nerve, the sheer, repugnant arrogance of the man, it's just something else again and I can't for the life of me decide whether it's simply confidence on his part or whether he is actually suffering from some form of undiagnosed delusional disorder. If I thought I actually had it in me to speak to him without ranting incoherently or just introducing my fist repeatedly to his face I'd even go so far as to ask him whether his abhorrent behaviour comes naturally to him or is it something he actually has to work at. Whatever it is that makes him tick though, it's fucking incredible. I mean, I've met dictators with more of an ability to tell right from wrong that this deluded creep.

On the back of the card, written in a barely legible script and in gold ink – and just who the fuck carries around a gold pen with them anyway? – Spencer's... kindly... made me an offer that's both evidence of everything that's wrong with him and, oddly enough, ludicrously easy to refuse.

I find myself fancying a stroll down memory lane.  
Say... £2,000 for an hour?

He...

Talk about having the sort of enlarged ego that you couldn't so much as even dint with a tonne of C4.

Just...

Oh my God. 

He fancies a stroll down memory lane, huh?

That...

That's just fucking marvellous. It really is. He'd like, for the princely sum of £2,000, which is magnanimous, if not downright generous of him, me to... loan... Will to him for an hour so that he... can, again, have a stroll down memory lane and be transported back to the halcyon days of La Fee Noir in order to relive the... good old times of pandering to his every sick and twisted whim.

Well.

Have I got some sad news for him. Not everyone gets what they want. Take me for example. I'd quite like to shoot Spencer in all of his major joints and just leave him to bleed out and suffer a slow and agonising death. Sadly, however, and this does actually pain me, I know that I'm not going to be able to bring my particularly gruesome fantasy to life because, hey, it would be wrong. Ignoring the fact that I'm not currently armed and this is neither the time nor the place to express, both so violently and vividly, just how little I happen to think of him, it would simply be wrong.

Just as requesting, even if you are willing to open up your wallet for the experience, to... borrow... another human being is, you guessed it, wrong. I don't care if Spencer's convinced of Will's position in my life being that of my pet. Nor do I care that this, just expecting to get your way with whoever you damn well please, may well be an expected part of the scene. Spencer doesn't know me and for him to just think, as I'm sure he does, I'm going to hand Will over to him, it...

Seriously. It just fucking astonishes me.

Turning the card over in my hand, I glance up at Spencer's pet as he waits patiently for me to give my response and, with a smile that's as cold as it is eerily calm, both slowly and very deliberately tear it in half. I then place the two halves of the card together and tear them in half again before, with a small shrug, letting the pieces slip from my fingers and fall on the floor by his feet. My point, I hope, being made, I return my attention to the stage and feign fascination with the overly flamboyant – and generally more annoying than amusing – auctioneer as he attempts to raise interest in a drab little Picasso sketch. Knowing his place well, the man dutifully picks up the remnants of the card and makes his way back to Spencer. Timing it to perfection, I glance over at Spencer just as he swivels around in his chair and, as he both pouts and does his best to affect a wounded expression, give another shrug. I don't, and I'm quite proud of myself here, poke my tongue out or flip him the bird and settle instead for letting him know, as succinctly as a look can, that he's nothing to me.

Mentally crossing my fingers that Spencer's now aware of where he stands – as in, nowhere – with me and that I've got no intention of playing his sordid little game, I go back to gazing vacantly at the auctioneer and am just starting to feel my pulse beginning to return to its normal rhythm when, to my disbelief, his pet reappears by my side and holds out another business card towards me.

Not wanting to play as... nice... the second time, I snatch the card out of his hand, turn it over and, as a nasty case of déjà vu settles over me, read Spencer's latest – if at first you don't succeed, try, try again – offer.

No?  
Perhaps a straight swap, then.  
Yours for mine.

Fabulous. Instead of getting £2,000 for an hour of Will's time I can now avail myself to the... services of – the one small step off being comatose – Mr Tattooed and Pierced instead.

Talk about this being my lucky night.

Shaking my head, I repeat my trick of tearing the card into five pieces and, this time, flick them at him so that they hit him in the chest before falling to the floor. His face, just as I expected would be the case, giving nothing away, he picks up all the piece of the card and, like the well trained pet that he has to be, carries them back to Spencer and presents them to him both on the palm of his outstretched hand and with a small, strangely contrite looking, bow.

Hoping that this is it, that Spencer will finally get the hint that leaving me the hell alone is the way to go, I lean back in my chair and watch, with mounting disbelief, as he simply pulls another card from out of his pocket and swiftly scrawls something on it before handing it to his pet and sending it back over to me.

Again, arrogant had nothing on this bastard.

I get that he's obviously used to getting his own way, but, guess what, this is one case that he's just going to be sadly disappointed and that's the end of it.

Scowling at Spencer's messenger boy as he reaches me, I grab the card out of his hand before he's even had time to hold it out towards me and... marvel... at his latest attempt to make me an offer that, to his way of thinking at least, I can't possibly refuse.

Knowing as I do now that he can speak...  
… I have a hankering to hear him beg.  
So...  
The auction Gods not smiling on me tonight, name your price.

Name my price? He has a... hankering... to hear him beg?

Unbelievable.

I mean, just what the fuck is this guy on?

A curiously numb feeling settling over me, I'm about to stand up – and make a scene in some way that I don't even have fully planned out and will undoubtedly live to regret – when Will's foot lightly pressing against mine grounds me back in reality.

Will...

It's ironic, really. I haven't even glanced at Will since Spencer sent his first offer to me, yet, ultimately, this entire sorry mess revolves around him. It's not of his making as, let's face it, he's the innocent party in all of this, but at the same time all roads lead back to Will. He remembers Spencer with loathing. Spencer remembers Will far too fondly and, I quote, would like a stroll down memory lane with him. I love Will and despise Spencer for what he did to him and, because of this, just everything else about the man as well. In one way Will's the catalyst, and in another it's all about Spencer. It's Spencer's fault Will broke down last night. It's also his fault that Will's forcing himself to wear a collar. And, fuck it, it's absolutely Spencer's fucking fault that I can't concentrate on the damn auction and just want to smash his teeth down his throat.

Paul Spencer. I thought at the time that I could never hate anyone as much as I hated Davian. I know now, however, that I was wrong and that comparing the two, Spencer and Davian, is like comparing apples and oranges. I hated Davian, and if the bastard was still alive I'd still be harbouring a simmering dislike for the man. Spencer, though... I detest him so much that it makes the loathing I felt for Davian seem like nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

But...

Applying myself to the all-consuming task of listing the ways I despise Spencer will just have to wait as, contrary to the way I'm behaving, I actually have work to do.

Translating Will's foot against mine to mean that, better late than never, I have to get with the program and focus on the auction, I glance up at the auctioneer and see that, yes, the Basquiat, the final piece for the night, has been brought up on stage. Wanting tonight to be over and done with, I'm pleased to see that our purpose for being here is finally coming to fruition and, knowing that I have to deal with Spencer's pet before the bidding starts, I quickly tear the business card into six nearly identical size strips. This done, I pick up the pieces from my lap and, with my free hand, reach out and grab the man tightly between the legs. Knowing better than to react to my both abrupt and rough treatment of him, the man merely straightens his shoulders and puts up no resistance as I squeeze down on his cock and pull him closer.

“Not. Interested,” I state with quiet, icy precision as I shove the pieces of Spencer's business card down the front of the man's leather trousers and fix him with a no-nonsense look. “Now, run back to your owner and leave me the fuck alone.” Releasing my hold on him, I shove him away and, wanting to do what I can to make sure he gets the hint that this sick game Spencer's been trying to play with me is now history, fold my arms across my chest and gaze pointedly at the stage.

I don't, even though a small voice in my head whispers that I probably should, glance at Will, and nor do I look over at Spencer to see how he reacts when his pet passes on my message. I'm not, although I know that it... should, for everyone's sake, be... saying that it, this fixation I've developed on Spencer, is over, but...

Focus.

I have to focus.

And, for what little it ends up being worth, that's what I do. I watch the bidding on the Basquiat with a detached sense of interest and, although it's heated and I swear I can see pound signs flash in the auctioneer's eyes as he only just controls the urge to rub his hands together gleefully, the successful bidder, just as Benji indicated would most likely be the case this morning, ends up being one Abir Bahar. 

Oddly, it's almost like an anti-climax.

For all the preparation we've done, and for all the... emotional torment we've been through, Benji called the outcome this morning and, while it's reassuring to know that our intel is up to date, it just doesn't strike me as having been worth it.

A new record price has been reached for a Basquiat, only... it wasn't for the artistic merit of the piece at all and was solely because a cashed up arms dealer had a... hankering... to get his hands on a super virus. The auction house is delighted, as, I'm sure, would be the – extremely – private seller, and the representatives of the Tate Modern look just about as shell shocked as they do depressed at having the painting slip so spectacularly from their grasp. We have a list that's just about as long as my arm of active arms dealers who are clearly in the market for whatever the latest and greatest weapon is, so it's not like the mission's been a failure or we've wasted our time or anything like that. It's just...

… That I hardly think it's been worth it, that's all.

We've got the buyer, and we've got enough intel to keep both the Powers That Be and the analysts happy for months, and...

… All I can still think about is Spencer and how... desperate... I am to teach him some sort of lesson.

I don't care about Bahar or the virus, just Spencer and... how arrogant he is, and what he did to Will, and how incredibly badly he's managed to get under my skin.

Once the round of applause for the amazing price the Basquiat went for is finished and people are beginning to get up from their seats in order to either leave or make arrangements for the payment and delivery of the pieces they bought, I stand up and, instead of seeking Bahar out in the crowd, search for Spencer instead. Spotting him, with his pet in tow, of course, moving towards the door, I make the snap decision that just letting him go about his business isn't something that I have it in me to do and that, to hell with the consequences, I have to follow him.

It's irrational. Not having any sort of a clear plan, it's not even as though I know... why... exactly it is I feel as though I have to do this and, what's more, I do actually know that I... should know better, but...

Whatever.

Having made my mind up on a complete and utter whim, I need – for reasons as yet undisclosed – to follow Spencer and, to do this, I have to get rid of Will.

It, ever-so-blithely declaring to myself that I 'have to get rid of Will', sounds wrong because it... is... wrong, but there's just no other way around it. He doesn't need to be aware of all of the hellish thoughts that have been on my mind and is just better off being as far away from what could possibly end up going down as possible.

So...

Time being of the essence and all of that, it's time to plaster on my game face and make my move.

“Not wanting to risk anything deviating from plan,” I state, turning around to face Will as he stands up and fusses over clipping his pen to the front of his auction guide, “I want you to go rendezvous with the others and make sure that they're fully aware of just how important it is that they don't let either Bahar or the vehicle carrying the painting out of their sight.”

Frowning, Will straightens himself up and, locking his troubled gaze on mine, gives a curt shake of his head. “No,” he declares in a soft, yet unmistakeably adamant tone. “They don't need me to tell them what to do as...”

“No?” I repeat, hiding my surprise at Will's refusal to just play nice and – run along – leave me to my own devices behind both a raised eyebrow and a dismal attempt at a casual shrug. “I've given you an order, and I expect...”

“Really?” Will interrupts, his frown deepening as he glances over to where Spencer and his pet are still standing by the door. “You're really going to try to play the... 'I'm your superior' card? That...”

“I've given you an order and I...”

“No. The others know what they're doing and I... I'm not letting you out of my sight,” Will replies matter-of-factly as he looks me directly in the eye and, under the cover of the row of chairs in front of us, trails his fingers lightly across the back of my hand. “Ethan, don't... Don't do this...”

“Don't do... what? Give you an order?” I mutter, jerking my hand back not because I'm afraid anyone might catch sight of my... lowly... accountant touching me but because I...

I've done nothing to deserve it. I haven't done anything to help him, or... stood up for him, and I need...

… I need to be on the move before this empty feeling that's causing my heart to hammer and for my breath to catch in my throat swallows me whole.

“Don't... go after Spencer,” Will states quietly. “He's not worth it, and...”

“You didn't see the notes he kept sending over to me!” I exclaim, the agitation I'm feeling coming through loud and clear in my voice. “He has to...”

“I did. I did see them,” Will murmurs as, clearly being as determined to get his point across as I am to... turn a deaf ear to sense and just be on my way, he closes his hand around mine and gives it a squeeze. “You were too busy seeing red to notice that I was reading them too, but...” Pausing, he shifts closer and positions himself directly in front of me. “Listen to me, Ethan,” he continues, giving me a look that can really only be described as pleading, “that bastard's never going to hear me beg, but... You... You are. If it's what I have to do I... I'll beg you to not do this. He... It's not...”

“I...” Grimacing as I try to fight through the waves of light headedness that are washing over me, I take a step back from Will and drop my gaze down to the floor. “I hate him,” I whisper. “He... He thinks he has the right to do whatever he Goddamn pleases and...”

“It wouldn't change anything,” Will interjects just a tad breathlessly as he places his hand flat on my chest. “Just... Think about. You could do... something... to him, or he could just be hit by a bus on his way back to his hotel, but it... It still wouldn't change anything. What he did to me... Uh... My memories, as they're not dependent on whether he's still amongst the living or not, will still be there and I'll still feel the same as I do now. Just as, and if you focus on what I'm saying here instead of the white noise in your head for a second you'll know that I'm right, you won't feel any different either. It... Going after Spencer, it's not going to change anything Ethan... Please...” Trailing off, Will sighs and drops his hand to his side. “We're done here,” he adds quietly, “and I want you to take me back to the hotel. I... I want... Hell. The only thing that I want is for you to stay with me...”

I know that Will's right, just as I know that I'm being selfish by taking something that's essentially about him and making it all about me, but Spencer, he...

“He shouldn't just be allowed to get away with it,” I reply, scowling over at the doorway and, proving once and for all that this really isn't my night at all, spotting Spencer as he gazes over at us. Our eyes meeting, he pouts and mouths, 'maybe next time,' before linking his elbow around his pet's and, with a small wave, walking out of the gallery. “He... Damn it! I... I can't just let him get...”

“He's not worth it,” Will interrupts adamantly as, snatching up my hand, he holds on to it – as though he's anchoring himself to me – tightly. “What's done is done and, again, it wouldn't change anything. Don't... Oh God, Ethan, I wasn't joking when I said that I'll beg if I have to. I... I want you to stay with me.”

“He...” Something in Will's voice finally getting through to me, I run my fingers through my hair with my free hand and sigh. “He needs to pay,” I murmur in a dull, flat voice as, almost unconsciously, I squeeze my hand around Will's and shake my head. “He... What he did, he...”

“Customs,” Will states, to me anyway, somewhat randomly as he backs up cutting me off with a grim smile. “Think about it. He runs a wine importing business, right? So... If we were to flag his business to be of interest with Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise, they...”

“Could stop and search every one of his trucks whenever they returned to the country,” I finish with a grim smile of my own as, no doubt just as he hoped it would, Will's idea makes perfect sense to me. “With the right word in the right ear, we could probably even ensure that there... was... something of interest in one of the trucks, too...”

Nodding, Will let's go of my hand and pulls the key to the Vanquish out of his pocket. “I know it's far removed from whatever it was you might have been planning for him,” he murmurs, holding the key out towards me, “but, for me anyway, it's enough. He won't have everything his own way for a change and I... I just want to move on. I want to forget about Spencer and, because the God awful London traffic will give you something to concentrate on, I want you to drive me back to the hotel. So... Ethan, please... Let's just get out of here.”

“While I'm still not entirely against the idea of lodging a bullet somewhere in the bastard,” I reply, taking the key from Will and watching, with a sense of relief of my own, actually, as an expression of obviously relief lights up his face, “I'll concede that your idea of having Customs rain on his parade is a good one and that... you're also right about it being time to get out of here. And... Uh... I'm sorry for...”

“You've got nothing to apologise for,” Will replies as, still smiling, he turns around and starts to walk towards the exit. “Now, come on. We've done what we came here for and now it's time to leave.”

“Well, one of us did what we came here for,” I counter, following Will along the row of chairs before, once we get to the end of them, shifting alongside of him and, as he glances at me, rolling my eyes. “What? Don't look at me like that. While I know who the successful bidder for the Basquiat was, I couldn't tell you a single thing about who managed to get what, or what anything else went for. Seeing as I was... uh... otherwise occupied, I don't even know if the Tate Modern was at least successful in getting Warhol's blue cat for their collection.”

“You'll be pleased to know then that they did manage to get Sam,” Will responds with a nod as he retrieves his auction guide from under his arm and waves it at me. “I also made notes of where everything ended up going which, given that some of our... uh... friends... purchased some fairly expensive pieces that could just pop up back on the market whenever they're needing a fresh injection of cash, could ultimately prove to be of some interest or use. The... end result... might have been expected, and perhaps we didn't really need to be here at all, but I still like to think that it will end up being worth our while.” 

“Again, I'm glad to know that at least one of us was working,” I murmur, gracing Will with yet another far-more-grim-than-it-is-genuine smile as we walk out of the gallery and head along the still quite crowded street to where the Aston's parked. “I just... Shit. I... I don't know what came over me. Spencer, he...”

“As I'd have been in the same boat if I hadn't made a very definite decision to focus on the auction, you... You don't have to say it.”

“But, I... I know better than that and I should have...”

“It's okay, Ethan, you don't have to say it. I... I know...”

“I could have blown...”

“But you didn't. We've got the intel we went there for and... It's over.”

“I...” Sighing, I shake my head and, as we've reached the car, use the remote to unlock it. “I'm still sorry,” I murmur, feeling, for some reason, as though I've just got to get the last word in as I open Will's door for him before walking around to the driver's side. “Tonight, I... It was like I just wasn't even there,” I add, shrugging as I open my door and slide in behind the steering wheel. What's more, even though I don't really want to mention this to Will, I still feel as though I'm far off functioning at my... taken for granted... best. Common sense makes me glad that Will both spoke up and was able to stop me from doing something that was only ever going to be mind-blowingly stupid. Preferring to be here with him than off on my own and doing God knows what, it's not even that I regret having my opportunity to seek revenge on Spencer taken from me. It's just...

… That I still feel empty for some reason.

I'm here with Will, the mission – no thanks to me – went off without a hitch, the idea of having Customs fuck Spencer over really does strike me as a satisfactory way of getting back at him, yet...

I still don't feel entirely with it.

In fact, I feel remarkably like a failure. 

I failed to play my role tonight and Will, who I should have been protecting, had to stand up and... protect me from my self.

It...

It's just not right.

“You don't need to tell me about having... not even there... moments,” Will murmurs wryly as he pulls his seat belt on and flashes me a soft smile of understanding. “I mean... Just remember who it is you're talking to here. Some times I feel as though I'm the... king... of vague, random moments.”

Deciding against mentioning that, hey, at least he – unlike me – has a perfectly understandable reason for his... moments, I settle instead for just giving a lacklustre shrug and starting the engine. “It's just... Uh... Never mind. Let's just get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Will replies as, giving me the sort of look that tells me as clearly as words ever could that although he's not buying my bullshit he's just going to go with it anyway, he reaches across the centre console and rests his hand on my thigh. “Home, James, and don't spare the horses!”

“That bit about not sparing the horses? I'll remember that if I get pulled over for speeding,” I retort with both a forced cheerfulness to my voice and a faked grin as, with a quick flick of the indicator, I pull away from the kerb and, just as Will all but instructed a couple of minutes ago, focus my full attention on my driving. Although it's close to eleven o'clock, traffic in this particular part of London is still heavy and, despite the fact I would have to be one of the most impatient drivers on the planet and generally loathe being stuck in a slow moving car, I have to say I'm actually, in a strange sort of way, thankful for it. Instead of maligning, both loudly and creatively, every other driver on the road, I just stay in my lane and dawdle along. I even, most likely to Will's – although he wisely keeps it to himself – amazement, willingly let a few cars in to the traffic in front of me.

I don't think, or doubt myself, or waste yet more precious energy making a fucking huge mountain out of something that's got close to nothing to do with me, I just drive.

Drive, and draw comfort from the reassuring weight of Will's hand as it rests on my thigh.

He's here, we're together, and all I have to do is get through what's left of this evening without succumbing to my own version of an – out of the blue and nothing if not surprising – irrational melt down.

Which, just call me a pessimist, I can't shake the feeling is actually going to be harder said than done.

I should be...

… I mean, I...

I'm fine.

Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? Everything's gone to plan, while Spencer will always be an asshole he's now out of my life and not worth wasting any more thinking about, Will, who's taking things far better than I am, is by my side, and...

I feel awful. Panicky, even, like I don't know how I'm going to get through the night.

I shouldn't, but I do.

And it's this, the uncertainty and confusion, that's getting to me as much as Spencer did. 

Will, who's as perceptive as he is inherently thoughtful and kind, remains silent throughout our journey back to The Dorchester and just leaves it to his hand on my thigh, which he doesn't remove until I'm bringing the car to a stop in front of the hotel, to let me know that he's here for me in whatever way I want him to be. Not really trusting myself to talk in any sort of a coherent manner, I hold back on telling him how grateful I am just for his very presence and, opening the door, simply hand the key to the waiting valet before climbing out of the car, striding in to the foyer and heading straight for the elevator. A little voice whispers accusingly in my ear that I should have waited for Will, and that the very least I can do is apologise for my appalling behaviour when he catches up but, too caught up in the mass of going nowhere thoughts in my head, when he does join me I don't so much as glance at him and just walk in to the elevator. Once again proving his effortless ability to always know the right thing to do though, Will, instead of either giving me a disappointed look or calmly inquiring as to just what exactly has crawled up my ass, simply takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

“I wouldn't blame you, you know,” I mumble as the elevator doors glide shut and we gravitate instinctively towards the back wall.

“Wouldn't blame me for... what?” Will queries, tightening his hand around mine as he flashes me a calm, curiously unbothered smile. “While there's every chance you're making sense in your head, you're not to me, so... Sorry. You're going to have to be a little more specific.”

“Leave me to it. Find something better to do with your time. Get out of this elevator and don't look back,” I retort, gazing at the floor numbers as they flash up on the screen in front of me. “Take your pick. I know I'm not much fun at the...”

“I'm not looking for fun,” Will interrupts, “and nor am I going anywhere. So, just suck it up and make your peace with the fact that you're stuck with me.”

“I... I don't deserve...”

“You do, but as this isn't a conversation I have any intention of having, just shut up and...”

“But...”

“Uh! Shutting up, remember?”

“You don't need...”

“And neither do you,” Will states, giving me a no-nonsense look as the elevator reaches our floor and, without letting up on his grip around my hand, he leads me out into the corridor. “Just... Shhh... We're almost to our suite and, if it helps, I give you my word that you can argue with me to your heart's content once we're safely behind the closed door.”

“I don't want to argue with you.” Sighing, I trail along behind Will and, feeling good for absolutely nothing, idly wish that the floor would just open up beneath me and swallow me whole. “I... What I want is...”

“To just stop feeling like this,” Will finishes as, reaching the door to our suite, he lets go of my hand and, with an encouraging smile, waits for me to both pull the key out of my pocket and unlock it. “Don't think you have to tell me about it as... You don't. Trust me. I think I know that particular feeling better than anyone.”

“I...” Unlocking the door, I gesture Will inside and, for a second or two, actually contemplate just taking off. It would, I think, be the kindest thing to do for him as I know I'm not being fair. My... trifling... concerns are nothing, not even a drop in the ocean, compared to what Will has to live with every single day, and to inflict them on him is unnecessarily selfish of me. He doesn't deserve my mood, and although I know he'd worry about me if I turned tail and disappeared, it still...

“Don't even dream it, Hunt,” Will mutters, his expression, if I'm not mistaken, one of amusement as he reaches back out through the door and grabs my arm. “My mood, even though I'll admit it has to be better than yours is at the moment, is not up for a merry chase through the streets of London, so...” Pausing, he lets go of my arm and folds his arms across his chest. “Get in here... Now!”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” I murmur as, shrugging my acceptance at having been caught out, I walk slowly in to the suite and shut the door. “Listen, Will, I... I'm not being fair, and think...”

“And that, in nutshell, is where the entire problem lies,” Will murmurs, sidling up to me and, without warning, wrapping his arms around me. “Thinking. It's, as you've told me on a number of occasions, bad for you and pretty much needs to be avoided at all costs...” Trailing off, he kisses my forehead and, despite the fact – for quite possibly the first time ever – I'm not hugging him back, just embraces me warmly. “Ethan, it... It's okay,” he whispers. “Let me look after you...”

“I don't need looking after,” I protest as, once again feeling increasingly light-headed, I try half-heartedly to free myself from Will. “I'm fine, and...”

“You're not fine, and...” Tightening his arms around me, Will shakes his head and, to my surprise, laughs. “And you're not going anywhere either! So stop squirming and listen to me.”

“I...”

“Last time I looked interrupting wasn't the same thing as listening,” Will mutters with another laugh as, knowing when I'm beat, I slowly slide my arms around his waist and relax against him. “That's better,” he adds, smiling gently as he gives my forehead another soft kiss. “Ethan, you... You're not fine and, contrary to your opinion, you... do... need looking after. We... Everyone needs looking after. They mightn't think that they do, but... they do. I... I've lost count of the times I've tried to tell myself that, as an adult, I don't need looking after at all, but... I do. I need looking after because it shows that I'm not alone and that I've got people in my life who care about me, and it... It makes all the difference. It really does. So, come on, let me...”

“I don't need looking after,” I repeat stubbornly even as I tighten my arms around Will and rest my head down on his shoulder. “I... I don't. I'm being... Fuck! I don't even know... what... I'm being. I just need to get a grip and I... I'll be fine...”

“You're being... human,” Will murmurs, rubbing his hand along my back as he kisses the top of my head. “You know that wall, the very same one that Jane's been circling ever since Trevor died, and the one I hit so spectacularly last night, well... You've hit it now, that's all. You've hit the wall, Ethan, the one we all hit at one time or another, and... It's okay. I've got you. Just as you've always been there for me, I'm here for you now and, trust me, you're going to get through it.”

“I just...” Sighing, I close my eyes and, even as the voice continues to scream in my ear that I'm being both weak and completely unfair, simply give up. “Everything, it... It's just getting to me,” I whisper. “I thought I was fine, I... I want to be fine, but... Hanaway's death... Not knowing how to help Jane... Spencer... Feeling... Oh God... Feeling as though I've let everyone, that I've let... you... down, I...”

“You haven't let anyone down. Everything has just added up to momentarily get on top of you, and... It's okay. It really is. Trevor's death had nothing to do with you, I haven't exactly been able to get through to Jane either, Spencer's... history, the mission still went to plan, and, again, you certainly haven't let anyone down. Just...” Gently releasing me from his arms, Will takes a step back and, as I reluctantly open my eyes, cups his hands around my cheeks. “Look at me, Ethan. I'm here because there's nowhere on earth I'd rather be. I'm here, with you, and I'm not going anywhere. You haven't, you could... never... let me down, and... you'll get through this minor...”

“Melt down?” I suggest with both a shrug and an embarrassed smile.

“I was going to go with... hiccup, myself, but melt down works just as well,” Will replies, trailing his fingers down both sides of my face before flashing me a grin that's as natural as it is beautiful and snatching up my left hand. “Come on. We're going to have a shower and you're going to wash my back for me...”

“Your... back?” I'm fully aware that as responses go it's probably the worst one I could have gone with, but... Will, who hates the three scars that disfigure his back so much that he can't, despite the fact we frequently shower together, even bring himself to let me touch them, is... now wanting me to wash them? As diversion techniques go there's no denying that it's a good one, but what it also is... is possibly taking things too far. If he thinks he has to force himself to endure something he always goes out of his way to avoid simply in the hope of getting me to pull my head out of my ass, then... “Will... It's okay. I may not be fine, but I... I'm already feeling better than I had been, and you don't have to...”

“While it was more of an order than an offer,” Will interjects as, still grinning, he starts to pull me towards the bedroom, “if it... had... been an offer, it was one that I made both freely and willingly. Yes, I want to both keep you busy and give you something... different... to think about, but what I also want is to shower with you and...”

“We can still shower together without...”

“We can, and it's not like we haven't, but...” Shrugging, Will glances over his shoulder and, as his grin slips, gives me a worried look. “The timing mightn't be great, I get that, just I get why you're probably thinking I'm only doing this because I want to give you something to focus on, but I... It's what I want. As you said that night, the damn things are just a part of me, they've... been there as long as you've known me, and I... I've not only got to accept this, but I've also got to move on from it, so... This. I thought this might be as good a way as any to... move forward, but... If you don't want to, or...”

“Of course I want to,” I state, cutting him off as, squeezing his hand, I speed up and open the bedroom door. “They're just another part of you, and... if it's what you want, what you... really... want, then of course I'll wash your back for you. I just don't want you to think it's something you... have to...”

“I know,” Will murmurs, giving my cheek a kiss as he releases my hand and walks in to the room. “I know I don't have to do it, but I want to. I know it's far from being any sort of... uh...a treat for you, and that my timing quite possibly leaves a bit to be desired, but I... I want to shower with you, Ethan, and I want... uh... that is... I'd like it if you could wash my back for me. If, however...”

“It would be my pleasure to wash your back for you,” I reply, cutting Will off again as, wanting to let him know that – as has most likely been his very clever plan all along – he's caught me hook, line and sinker and that I'm with him all the way, I grab him and, just as he did to me a few minutes ago, wrap my arms around his waist. “Showering with you, William, is not exactly a hardship, you know,” I add lightly as, looking nothing if not relieved at having so thoroughly snared my attention, he hugs me back. “In fact, I can't think of a better way to end what, until now, has been a fairly crappy day.”

“Crappy day, crappy week, hell, I think we can even go for strike three and add... crappy month... to it as well,” Will responds with a lopsided grin as he looks me in the eye and shrugs. “But, whatever. We're still here, the mission's over, and...”

“The shower beckons.” Returning Will's grin, I step back from him and, before he has time to start moving towards the en suite, reach for the collar around his neck. “First things first though, let's get rid of this horrid thing.”

Nodding, Will shifts closer and tries – not entirely successfully – to smile through his discomfort. Although I'm only unbuckling the collar, it's clear from the way he both stiffens at my touch and won't look at me that he doesn't like it and, just wanting to get it over and done with without making an issue out of it, I don't even say anything when I've got it off him and it's in my hand. There being no bin that I'm aware of in the room, I just throw it down on to the floor and, taking Will's hand in mine, lead him into the bathroom. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, blushing slightly as he runs his fingers along the red mark around the base of his neck that was left by the collar. “I... I'd love to be able to say that I'd forgotten it was even there, but...”

“You can't...”

“No.” Shaking his head, Will gives me a sad little smile and begins to unbutton my shirt for me. “I could feel it... From the second I put it on and right up until you took it off, I could feel it... choking... me. It... It wasn't even as heavy as... uh... the other one, but I... I could still feel it...”

“Well, it's gone now,” I reply somewhat lamely as I shrug out of my jacket and let it fall down onto the tiles. “Gone, and hopefully never to return.”

“Hopefully,” Will agrees as, having succeeded in unbuttoning my shirt, he pushes it off my shoulders and, leaving me to deal with the arms, reaches for my belt. “I don't regret my decision to wear it,” he adds, “but I... Let's just say that I'm glad that it's gone.”

“You and me both,” I murmur, kissing the top of his head as, quickly reaching the conclusion that things will move along a lot quicker if we just undress ourselves, I bat his hands away and make short work of unzipping my fly. “No offence, but now that I've got the idea of a shower stuck in my head, I just want to get in there.”

“So long as it's only the thought of a shower you've got stuck in there,” Will mutters as he calmly, and with only the barest hint of a smirk, watches me strip everything off before beginning to take his own clothes off. “Go on, then. By the time you've got the water right I'll be ready to join you.”

“Boss, boss, boss,” I tease, affecting an expression of long sufferance as I – nevertheless – open the glass shower door and turn on the taps. “You're lucky I'm not thinking at my best and just happen to be in an obliging sort of mood.”

“Actually...” Stepping out of his boxers and jeans, Will walks naked over to the shower and presses himself up against my back. “I'm just lucky to have you, period,” he murmurs, resting his chin on my shoulder and kissing the side of my neck. 

Spinning around, I hug Will and, stepping backwards, pull him under the warm flow of water. “If you're lucky, I don't know what that makes me,” I reply thickly as, it apparently being the night for embracing, we settle together instinctively and just... cling... to each other. The voice of recrimination and self-doubt in my head whispers both quietly and with none of its earlier venom that I still don't deserve any of it, but...

I'll take it.

I'll take Will stepping up and taking charge, and I'll take allowing myself to be led, and...

… I'll take this.

I'll definitely take this.

~*~*~*~*~

Waking to both the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting in to the room and the feel of a familiar body curled around mine, I open my eyes and can't help but smile up at the ceiling at how incredibly... similar... it all seems.

The morning after the night before. Jane and Benji busying themselves with the mundane yet reassuring task of breakfast. Will still asleep and pressed warmly against my side. My mind full of the events of only a few short hours ago while, at the same time, my overriding emotion would have to be one of peace.

I even, odd though it may seem given how close I came to losing it last night, think I have to own up to feeling quite content. If not just that little bit on the happy side. Or, if that's pushing things slightly too far, I'd settle for sticking with... content. I definitely feel content.

Which, seeing as I really was only a tiny step off snapping and falling in to a deep, dark hole while at the gallery last night, is nothing – to my way of thinking anyway – short of a miracle. 

Thanks to Will, I'm both here, where I like to think I should be, and in one... mentally stable... piece.

If he hadn't intervened and I'd gone on my not-so-merry way after Spencer, I...

… I honestly don't know what would have become of me.

Revenge is one thing, and it's not as though I haven't killed before, but...

Outside of a mission? And essentially in hatred-fuelled, cold blood?

Looping back to Jane's original reading of Spencer, he...

He... is... a nobody. A rich, arrogant, quite possibly deluded nobody with questionable sexual predilections, but...

… Still a nobody.

My opinion – that of outright disgust and loathing – hasn't changed, and there'll always be a part of me that thinks he deserves more of a slap down that just having his business raked over by Customs, but if Will's made his peace with leaving it at that, then...

So be it.

End of story.

Although, caught tight in the web of claustrophobic thoughts in my head, I may have struggled to remember this last night, it's not, and never has been, about me. Not in the way I've been carrying on, anyway. Knowing, and loving Will as I do, I can do all the hating for him that I like, but what I can't do is try to... take him over by reacting how... I... think he should. I just can't. I need to be there for him, not take it upon myself to seek revenge on his behalf when he's already found his own way to move forward and, having now had it brought home to me that I'm not very good at it anyway, this is just something I'm going to have to remember.

What I also need to remember though is that, even if I stumble here or there or lose my way, I have someone in my life who won't hesitate to step in and get me back on track again.

Will.

Despite everything he had to be going through himself, he pushed through both his own issues and what I can only imagine to be quite considerable discomfort, and...

… Got through to me.

By both giving me his full attention and refusing to back down, he cut through all the bullshit I was inflicting on myself and, at the risk of sounding as though I'm dumbing it down, was... just there for me. From not letting me go after Spencer, to giving me something to focus on, all the way to simply ensuring that he was... there, Will just didn't put a foot wrong. In fact, as far as I'm concerned I couldn't have asked for more. He was there for me, and, in his own quiet, persuasive way, he got me through the night. 

I don't, with absolutely no hint of exaggeration, know what I would have done without him.

Knowing only too well himself what it's like to fall prey to internal demons, he never left me alone to fall back on my own devices and, again, in his own unique way, he just kept me occupied one way or another until, to my surprise, I actually fell asleep both easily and at ease. Having, with a great deal of success given how long we took in the shower, played his 'back as a diversion' card, Will, once we were dry and dressed in the first casual pieces of clothing we could get our hands on, moved things along to the next point and presented me with the non-negotiable task of writing up the mission report. Now, while this, completing a report at the completion of a mission, in itself is very much par for the course, knowing both that my mind had been elsewhere at the gallery and that I'd be lucky if I could write so much as a paragraph about what had taken place that evening, Will decided – all in the name of keeping me busy, of course, that I could... play the role of secretary and type up the report while he dictated it to me.

As ideas go it was, particularly for Will, outside of the box, and it certainly did the trick of giving me something to do other than fixate on the unpleasantness in my head, but what it also was... was nothing if not a little surreal. Will is an excellent report writer. Given that he usually volunteers to write up all of our missions, I think it's even something – for reasons completely unknown – he quite enjoys. He's both good at them and can generally knock them out in next to no time at all, whereas I, on the other hand, am indifferent at best to the so-called art of report writing and find it nothing more than a boring necessity. I can, when I have to, write them, and it's not as though I've ever had any sent back to me covered in corrections and the demand for a rewrite, but, seriously, they're just not my forte. In fact, if given a choice I'd rather break in to the Pentagon with nothing more than a nail file as my one and only tool than I would to have to sit down and write up a lengthy report.

So...

To type one up while Will used his notes to dictate it to me was...

… Nothing if not an experience.

What should have, if Will had been doing it himself, taken around thirty minutes took close to two hours. I typed too slowly, asked – I mean, let's face it, most of what he was telling me about the goings on of the arms dealers at the gallery was news to me – too many questions, made too many errors, and generally, no doubt to Will's way of thinking, went out of my way to push his buttons. He, in turn, talked too quickly and, not that I can really blame him, kept making the mistake of expecting me to, both figuratively and literally, be on the same page as he was. 

Again, it really was... an experience. Not a great one, granted, but, and this is all that has to matter, it worked. We got the report written and forwarded in a more or less prompt manner to the Secretary's in-box and, engrossed in both the task and trying to keep up with Will, I was able to remain firmly entrenched not in... my head... but in the here and now. Gratifyingly, if not quite surprisingly as well, it was even easy, possibly, although I'm not sure Will would agree with me, even just that little bit... fun. We worked together, got the report done, and, with perfect timing, had barely signed off on it and hit send when Jane and Benji, having completed their task of baby-sitting Bahar and his freshly purchased Basquiat to both Heathrow and in to the safe hands of Wilson and his team, returned to the suite and, unbeknownst to them, provided us with their own form of a diversion. 

No more impressed by their part in the mission than, albeit for entirely different reasons, I'd been, they were more hyped by their late night drive than they were tired and, wanting an audience to rant to, insisted that we stay up and share a drink. Which, being nothing if not the perfect team mates, we dutifully agreed to and let them share their – numerous, predominantly traffic and airport related – grievances with us for close to an hour before just leaving them to – their drinking – it and heading off to bed.

I thought... Actually, no. Make that I... fully expected... at this point that I'd just slip silently and effortlessly back in to my own head as we lay in bed waiting for sleep, but, as I should have known, Will had other ideas and nipped that particular thought in the bud even before it had had time to fully form and take hold.

“I know it's ridiculously close to hypocritical of me, if not, given how I'm prone to carrying on, even a little on the... laughable side, but... Listen to me, Ethan. The past is just that... Spencer. Last night. The gallery. It's all history, and there's not a thing we can do to change any of it. What we are, however, is still here, where we... want... to be, and if you've got to dwell on anything, dwell on that.”

I could have argued, or countered his line about being hypocritical with a hopefully soothing sounding lecture of my own. I could even have nodded my agreement while all the time telling myself that I was just being kind by hiding the fact that I didn't actually believe a word of it.

I didn't though. I didn't do any of these things and, not that I really needed more evidence of Will's skilful ability to get through to me when I needed it the most, simply took his statement at face value and accepted it as irrefutable fact.

Not having the ability to travel through time at my disposal, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about any of the events of the past, and we were still here. Climbing in to bed together, leaving a lamp on to keep the darkness at bay as always, and just... thankful for it. I closed my eyes, Will pushed and prodded me into position until, with a sigh of contentment, he was finally comfortable and, to my great relief if not surprise, I slid quickly off into sleep. I shouldn't have, seeing as I'd done little other than sit on my ass and angst all day, but I not only fell asleep within minutes but I also slept through the night.

And here we are. Another morning and another day. Possibly more in need of a break than ever before, but in one piece and, just as I did last night when Will took it upon himself to take charge, I'll take it.

I'll take it happily.

Warm fingers both sliding under my t-shirt and stroking my chest alerting me – funnily enough – to the fact that Will's joined me in being awake, I smile across at him and, even though it catches him mid yawn, plant a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “Hey there,” I murmur as he sleepily returns my smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Will replies through another yawn as, pulling his hand free from under my top, he sits up against the pillows and stretches. “I'm an elephant-free zone this morning, so, yeah, I'm definitely good.”

“Elephant-free zone, huh?”

“Mmm... Remind me, will you, that the next time I need putting out of my misery for the night that... one... of those damn pills would surely have to be enough. I mean, being knocked out is one thing, but waking up to... elephants... really is another thing entirely.”

“I give you my word that I'll do my best to remember,” I reply, following Will's lead by sitting up and leaning back against the pillows. “Last night though, you... still slept okay, yeah?”

“Seeing as I've only just woken up, I slept fine,” Will responds, glancing at the time on the clock-radio on his bedside table before, his expression one of concern, turning back to face me. “What about you, though? Did you sleep okay?”

“Like you, I slept fine and have only just woken up myself,” I confirm with a grin. “I'm not saying that I'm not somewhat... amazed... by this, but...”

“And... You're okay?” Will interrupts as, still not looking entirely convinced that I'm telling him the truth, he folds his arms across his chest and frowns. “Ethan? I know last night was... a head-fuck, but...”

“Seriously, I'm fine,” I state as, wanting to wipe the frown off his face, I lean over and plant another kiss on the tip of his nose. “I made, and don't try to correct me here as I know that I did, a dick of myself last night and, yeah, okay, I'm still a bit embarrassed by it, but... I'm here, and you're here, and there's the smell of fresh coffee coming from outside the door, and... I'm good. In fact, it all being in the past and today being a new day and all of that, I may even be... really... good.”

“Then I'm... really... pleased to hear it,” Will murmurs, flashing me a relieved smile as, subscribing to the 'if you can't beat them, join them', school of thought, he leans across and kisses the tip of my nose. “Now, what I'm also quite pleased about is the smell of coffee, so... Do you think we'd perhaps better get up and investigate?”

“Or we could find a phone and try our luck at ordering... in-bed... room-service,” I reply, looking at Will and laughing as, with positively eerie timing, there's a loud knock on the door. “Hey... Surely we couldn't be so lucky...”

“We can always hope,” he responds as, shrugging, he looks over at the door. “Do you think they'll try again, or are they waiting for us to...”

“We know you're awake because we can hear mumbling,” Benji's voice calls out from the other side of the door as, once again looking at each other, we roll our eyes and laugh at his perfect timing. “So... Can we come in, or... are you doing something that we... uh... don't want to see?”

“Like what? Reading poetry?” I retort loudly enough to heard through the door. “Benji, I'm beginning to think you've got a one track mind.”

“What? I do not have...” Trailing off, Benji opens the door and, with Jane following close behind him, walks into the room. Still dressed in the same clothing they had on last night and looking just a tad worse for wear, they both carry a cup of coffee in each hand and while Benji is already blushing and averting his gaze, Jane's expression is one of quiet determination. “I just... You know... What's once seen not being able to be unseen and all that,” he continues, the words falling out of his mouth in a rush as, still looking anywhere other that at either Will or myself, he makes his way up to the bed and holds out a cup of coffee towards me, “I... I just didn't want to walk in on something that... uh... I shouldn't. I mean, what you two get up to in the bedroom isn't... uh... any business of mine, and...”

“And nor is it something I really think we need to be discussing,” Will interjects, saving Benji not only from digging a deeper verbal hole for himself, but also me from having to choose a pillow to throw at him. “Our... poetry reading habits... are private, thank you very much,” he adds with just a hint of a smirk as, with a nod of thanks, he takes a cup of coffee from Jane. “Now, as nice as coffee in bed may be, please tell me that there's a repeat of yesterday's pastries to go with it?”

“No pastries, sorry,” Jane replies, toasting us both with her coffee before walking down to the foot of the bed and taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “There will, however, be pancakes a little later. In fact...”

“There'd have been pancakes... now... if the kitchen hadn't stuffed up and sent up wholemeal ones with the coffee instead,” Benji finishes with a shrug as, taking a mouthful of his coffee, he looks around the room and gives every impression of being at a complete loss as to what to do with himself. “I'd have given them a go...”

“But I wouldn't have,” Jane mutters, squeezing Will's foot through the bedding, “and I don't think they would have received your tick of approval either.”

“Wholemeal?” Wrinkling his nose, Will shakes his head. “God, no. I want pancakes covered in maple syrup, not... masquerading as some form of health food. So, thank you, Jane, you definitely did the right thing in sending them back.”

“Don't mind me, then,” Benji complains with a mock-haughty sniff. “I'll just quietly starve to death while...”

“Quietly? If that's quietly I'd hate to...”

“Children!” I exclaim, laughing as both Jane and Benji jerk their heads around to shoot me an annoyed look for daring to interrupt their banter. “What? While I appreciate the coffee, if all you're going to do is bicker I think...”

“Bicker?” Jane echoes, sharing a bemused look with Benji as he finally settles on perching himself on the edge of the mattress by my feet. “Get real. This isn't bickering and you know it. Besides...” Pausing, she takes a sip of coffee and shares another, this time quite unreadable, look with Benji. “We actually want to talk to you both about something...”

“Oh-oh... This sounds ominous,” Will comments in a light tone of voice that doesn't quite match the look of doubt in his eyes as, perhaps unconsciously, he sits up a little straighter. “Do we... uh... even want to to know?”

Getting to her feet with a sigh, Jane looks down at the bed and sighs. “Just... Look at us,” she states plainly as, in a show of solidarity, Benji stands up and joins her. “We're... hungover and haven't even been to bed, while, for the second morning in a row, it's past nine o'clock and... you're still in bed. I mean... It's just not right. Usually by this time you've dragged Will for a run by now, but...”

“Dragged?” I interject as, feeling for some reason as though I need to head Jane off, I glance at Will and affect a wounded expression. “Is that how you really feel about our morning runs?”

“Dragged... might be a little of an over the top way to describe how I feel about having to... pound the pavement when I'd much rather still be in bed,” Will replies with a rueful smile, “but, and please don't take this the wrong way, I really do only go with you because I know that I have.”

“Ha! I'll remember that next time you...”

“Nice try, Buster,” Jane declares, waving a disapproving finger at me. “I know what you were trying to do there, and... it's not going to work. We're... Again. Just look at us. This mission was a walk in the park. It went to plan, we're all here and unscathed, yet I...” Pausing, she glances at Benji. “That is, we...

“We still feel as though we've been hit by a bus,” Benji murmurs. “I know, I know. We shouldn't feel like this at all, but...”

“We do. And looking at you two, I think you're both feeling it too,” Jane adds with another sigh as she places her cup down on the bedside table before returning to Benji and linking her elbow around his. “The mission was easy, and we're all still here, but... For how much longer, huh? We're all running on empty and, speaking for myself here at least, I don't think I have it in me to go on without first taking a break.”

“I know I'm only the tech-guy, and that I don't do as much front-line stuff as the rest of you,” Benji states as he tightens his arm around Jane's and, with a sigh, draws himself up to his full height, “but I feel the same as Jane. In fact, to be completely honest with you, I'm knackered. And... And that's why...”

“We're here to tell you that we need a holiday,” Jane announces very much – 'and that's all there is to it' – matter-of-factly. “Having talked about it amongst ourselves, we're not... asking... so much as we're... telling you.”

“In other words, it's a done deal,” Benji states as, some of his Jane-fed bravado threatening to up and leave him, he flashes me an apologetic smile. “We know it might seem a bit out of the blue, and that we're perhaps taking... uh... liberties, but...”

“It's a done deal,” Jane repeats, fixing me with a narrow-eyed look that tells me I'd be wise not to argue with her. “We need a holiday, and... we're going to have a holiday.”

“Given that it's a... done deal, so I'm gathering,” I mutter, sharing a look with Will and trying my hardest not to laugh at how... easily... the whole 'holiday issue' seems to have been resolved. I thought, in fact we... both... thought that talking Jane in to taking a break was going to take no small amount of dedication and effort. Accepting that it was something that needed to be done, I'd braced myself for the task and knew that, regardless of what it took, I wasn't going to back down and take no for an answer. It wasn't something I was looking forward to having to do, and... knowing now that I don't have to, it...

… Maybe it's a sign that things are finally looking up.

“A... done deal, huh,” Will murmurs, hiding his own knowledgeable smirk behind a casual sip of coffee. “Is that done as in... D-O-N-E, or... done as in... D-U-N-N?”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny,” Benji retorts with a laugh as, his expression one of relief, he glances at Jane and grins. “Did you hear what Mr Smart Arse just did? He made a pun of...”

“Funnily enough, you know, I... did... manage to both hear, and get it, myself,” Jane replies as, looking relieved herself, she gently bumps her hip against Benji's. “So... That's it, huh? No... arguing, or... 'I'm the team leader, you'll have a holiday when I say you can have a holiday' type crap, just... banter?”

No longer seeing the need to disguise my joy at how all of this is going, I grin happily and shrug. “I don't know about you,” I murmur, draping my arm around Will's shoulders, “but I've got to say banter is working pretty well for me.”

“You know something? I have to say it's working quite well for me, too,” Will replies, smiling contentedly up at Jane as he leans against me and toasts her with his cup. “I mean... Argue against taking a break? I know a lot of people think I'm strange, but I'm not... that... strange.”

“I...” Laughing, Benji rolls his eyes at Jane. “So much for thinking this was going to be hard.”

“Hmm... For some reason I get the feeling we may have walked straight in to a trap,” Jane mutters, giving first me, and then Will a pointed look before both laughing and shrugging. “But, whatever... I don't really care seeing as we're all on the same page and appear to be getting something we're all wanting.”

“Walked in to a trap?” I murmur, gracing Jane with my best impression of a wide eyed, innocent look. “Whatever are you talking about? You come in here, take over our bedroom in order to make your demands, and...”

“Can it, Ethan, 'cos I'm not buying it for a second,” Jane retorts. “This was only easy because we saved you from having to raise it yourself.”

“I don't know what you're...”

“And I don't care,” Jane states, cutting me off with a smile as, pulling her arm free of Benji's, she takes a seat back down on the edge of the mattress. “The fact that we're having a holiday is settled, and...”

“Now all we have to decide is... uh... whether we stick together or go our separate ways,” Benji pipes up a little hesitantly. “We... Jane and I, we... Uh... That is, we thought that it might be nice for us to all have a holiday together, but... Well... It's up to you two. I mean, we'd understand if you want to be on your own, of course we would, but...”

“I'm down with the idea of going somewhere together,” Will replies, flashing a smile at Benji before glancing at me in order to gauge my reaction. “Ethan? We could always start off somewhere together and then make our minds up as to whether we stayed as a group or went off and did our own thing.”

My response not being one I even have to think about, I nod and, tightening my arm around Will, pull him a little closer. “Sticking together works for me,” I smile as, just as Will did a moment ago to Jane, I toast Benji with my cup of coffee. “Seeing as you've both clearly spent a lot of time thinking this all up, I assume you've already got somewhere in mind?”

“Hawaii,” Jane quickly states as she shares a triumphant look with Benji. “Or, to be exact, a private estate on the outskirts of Honolulu. It's owned by a friend of mine who's forever trying to get me to use it and, well, as I know he's currently in Tokyo for the month, I thought it'd be ideal. It has its own pool and is just far enough off the beaten track to be away from prying eyes, and... for those of us who can't just laze around by the pool all day...” Pausing, she smirks and gives me a pointed look. “There's always... stuff... that can be done in Honolulu. So... Uh... That's my suggestion, anyway.”

“Hawaii, huh?” Shrugging, Will glances first at Jane and Benji before turning his attention to me. “I can live with that. You?”

“You mean I'm allowed an opinion?” I tease, even though I have no problems whatsoever with going to Hawaii and really just want to see what sort of reaction I might get.

“Well, it was Jane's idea, so that's one vote, and I've already declared that I'm all for it too, so...” Trailing off, Will glances up at Benji and smiles encouragingly. “Benji, it's up to you. If you're okay with Hawaii as our destination then, hey, Ethan doesn't really get to have an opinion regarding it at all.” 

“While I'm not sure my skin will agree with me, I like the idea of going to Hawaii,” Benji murmurs tentatively, flashing me another apologetic smile while Jane and Will share a high-five. “Uh... Sorry, Ethan...”

“Fine! If I had a white flag handy I'd wave it,” I laugh, gesturing for Benji to take a seat back down on the foot of the bed. “Come on, then. Seeing as you've all so successfully ganged up on me here, we'd better start planning our holiday to Hawaii, hadn't we...”

~*~*~*~*~

“Where's Will?” Jane queries, gesturing me over to join her at the outdoor setting as I walk through the wide, open glass doors and out in to the pool area. “Please don't tell me he's still in bed on a day like this. Just... Look at it. Compared to that miserable, drizzly weather we were stuck with in London, this is just heavenly.”

“It's certainly an improvement,” I agree, pulling my sunglasses out of my pocket and slipping them on as I glance up at the brilliantly blue, cloudless sky.

“An improvement?” Jane mutters as, lowering her sunglasses, she gives me a disapproving look. “Is that... really... the best you can come up with, huh? The sun's shining, it's actually warm, even Benji...” Pausing, she pushes her sunglasses back in place and points across the pool to where, sprawled comfortably over a banana lounge, Benji's both staked his claim and set up camp. Dressed in a green t-shirt over a baggy pair of board shorts which just – when in Rome or, as the case may be, Honolulu – happen to be covered in a truly garish Hawaiian print, he has his huge beach umbrella to keep him shaded, his large glass of some thick, pale yellow liquid that may or may not be a smoothie of some description to keep him hydrated and, possibly most importantly of all, he has his huge pile of freshly purchased comics stacked next to him to keep him occupied. As sights to see poolside go it's definitely... not one you see every day, but, hey, having already learned my lesson this morning about keeping my unasked for opinions to myself, if he's happy and doing exactly what it is he wants to do, then...

That's all that has to matter.

Not my opinion, or Jane's, just his. If he wants to make the most of this beautiful morning by sitting in full shade and reading comics then... So be it.

“Well... Benji's doing whatever it is he wants to be doing,” Jane finishes with a shrug as she picks up a large jug of iced-tea from the centre of the table and pours out a fresh glass. “I'm not saying I really get the whole... sitting in shade thing, and the less said about what I saw going in to that smoothie the better, but...” Shrugging again, she pushes the glass over to me as I take a seat at the opposite end of the table. “Whatever. It's his holiday and if that's what's making him happy...”

“It is,” Benji pipes up as, grinning, he gives us a small wave as we both jerk our heads around to – marvel at his hearing – stare across the pool at him. “Just because I don't want to end up looking like a lobster or splash around in water doesn't mean I'm not as happy as a pig in shit over here. I mean, think what you will, but right now this is just about my idea of perfection.”

“And we're both perfectly happy for you,” Jane replies as she leans back in her chair and stretches languidly as the sun beats down on her near naked, save for a turquoise bikini and purple sarong tied around her waist, body. “I still say you don't know what you're missing out on, but... To each their own.”

“What I'm missing out on is... first turning fire-engine red and then peeling,” Benji retorts, holding his right arm up and pointing to it. “Look! Pale 'n' pasty Pom here, remember? I'm not saying I won't go swimming later, but... Just laze around in the sun? Uh-uh. Never gonna happen.”

“Fine! You win,” Jane replies, wrinkling her nose as she turns her attention back to me. “But that's only because I really don't want to have to deal with the whole flaking skin thing,” she adds under her breath. “I've seen him get sunburnt before and, yeah, it's not pretty.”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” I reply, picking up my iced-tea with a nod of thanks and taking a sip. “For what it's worth though, I think you're right in that it... is... rather beautiful out here and, yes, it is a vast improvement on London.”

“So, it's a... vast... improvement, now, huh?” Laughing, Jane leans across the table and clinks her glass against mine. “I'm glad you came so quickly around to my way of thinking. Now...” Settling back in her seat, she takes a long mouthful of her drink and, even though I can't see her eyes through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, fixes me with a look. “Back to my original question... Where's Will? I know he likes to sleep in whenever he's gets the chance, but...”

“He's up,” I interrupt, not because I particularly want to be having this conversation but because I know Jane's not going to let it go. “He's out of bed, dressed, and... last heard, he was just going to have a read inside.”

“Why? He should bring his book out here. We can always find another umbrella if it's too bright or...”

“He...” Sighing, I tilt my head back and gaze up at the sky. “He's fine where he is, so... Just leave it, yeah...”

“Ethan? Is something the matter?” Standing up, Jane shifts in to the chair closest to mine and places her hand lightly on my wrist. “Is Will okay? We're supposed to be on holiday and enjoying ourselves, not...”

“Will's... fine,” I murmur, placing my hand over hers in what I truly hope she takes as a reassuring gesture. “He's just a little... annoyed, or... put out... over... uh... something I should have known better than to have even raised. But... It's okay. He'll get over it, I'll know better than to stick my nose in where it's not invited, and...”

“Do I even want to ask?”

“No. You don't.”

“And... Even if I did, you wouldn't tell me anyway, right?”

“No. I wouldn't.” Sighing again, I pull my hand away from Jane's and try to side-track her with a ghost of a smile. “Look. It's fine. I... pushed... when I should have left well alone, and Will, who's still a little jet-lagged, didn't appreciate it, but... It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“Don't worry about it?” Jane echoes, curling her fingers around my wrist. “Sorry, but I'm like you when it comes to Will in that I can't help but worry when I don't know what's going on. Actually... All of you. I'm like... that with you and Benji too. Especially now. Ever since Trevor...” Trailing off, she abruptly pulls her hand away and tilts her head back. “Uh... Maybe it's selfish of me, but I just don't want to lose anyone else...”

“It's not selfish, and... You're not going to lose any of us,” I state adamantly as, pretty much blaming myself for – first with Will, and now with Jane – putting my foot in it, I quickly move to make amends by draping my arm around her slumped shoulders and giving her a brusque hug. “Hey... Come on. Cheer up. Will's fine. Just... Think about it. Would I be out here if I honestly thought there was anything seriously wrong with him?”

Sniffing, Jane leans into my embrace for a couple of seconds before shrugging off my arm and nodding. “When you put it that way...”

“He's fine,” I repeat as, mentally biting the bullet, I decide to put Jane's curiosity to rest by doing what I can to explain just... what it was I inadvertently did to Will this morning . “I... I just made the mistake of... suggesting... he might like to consider joining me for a swim, that's all...”

“That's all, huh?”

“Uh... Okay. So... maybe... I might have backed this... suggestion... up by presenting him with a pair of board shorts that I... may have... deliberately purchased for him for that very purpose.”

“Ah...”

“Yeah. Ah...”

“Don't get me wrong, Ethan. You really are a man of many varied skills, but...”

“Subtlety... isn't one of them,” I finish with a slow shake of my head. “Just... Tell me something I don't already know. I... I mean, I know why he hasn't been swimming since... uh... what happened to him, but... I don't know, I think I just thought that... This...” Pausing, I gesture around the fully enclosed pool area. “I thought that this would be fine, you know. There's no-one else around, he's amongst friends, and...”

“It's still a big ask,” Jane murmurs, her expression one of understanding as she returns her hand to my wrist. “We're his friends, and... of course we know better than to either stare or ask questions, but... Knowing how he feels about his body, I can understand... why... something as simple as going for a swim could still seem like a huge ask. I know! Do you think it would help if I were to take Benji...”

“Thanks for the offer, but right now I think the only thing that's going to be of any use to anyone is to just... leave well enough alone,” I state. “Will, he... He wasn't angry, or even defensive, but I... I could just see that my... gung-ho attitude in regards to getting him in the pool was making him uncomfortable and...”

“Better late than never, you decided to... retreat...”

“Mmm... Pretty much.”

“He didn't sleep during the flight, did he?”

I shake my head. “Not a wink.”

“So... A fifteen hour flight and an eleven hour change in time-zones... You're probably right in that he's just a little jet-lagged and simply wasn't feeling up to your... enthusiastic... suggestion. Did he sleep well last night?”

“Like a log.”

“Wake up well?”

“Uh... Not particularly. I decided to go for a run and, while he woke up long enough to both contemplate and... decline... my offer to join me, he was asleep again before I'd even got my shoes laced up.”

“Jet-lagged, groggy, and in no frame of mind to be put on the spot,” Jane replies with what looks to be quite a happy smile. “Don't let this go to your head or anything, but you're right again. He's fine. You didn't do anything wrong, Ethan, and I'm confident Will feels exactly the same way. Your suggestion was a good one, having the shorts all ready for him was... just logical, and I'd be willing to bet money that he'll both realise this for himself, and... be out here poolside before lunch.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” I mutter. “I mean, yeah, I really do think he'll be fine, but...”

“He'll join us, you'll see.” Shrugging, Jane takes a sip of her iced-tea before pulling a face and returning the glass to the table. “Needs more ice,” she murmur to herself as, pushing the glass further away, she returns her attention to me and, possibly because she thinks I need it, broadens her smile. “While I may not know him quite as well as you do, I still know Will pretty well and, even if he's not ready to go swimming and comes out fully dressed, he'll still realise that he's better off out here with us and, again, you'll see... He'll be out here before you know it.”

“I'm not...”

“You can look doubtful all you like, but I know that I'll be proven right,” Jane states, cutting me off as, just as I did to her earlier, she drapes her arm around my shoulders. “Now... I might not know what exactly happened in London, or... just why it is you're thinking you suddenly have to tread so carefully around Will, but what I do know is this... Don't dwell on it and just move on. Or, if you want to look at it a different way, just borrow a page from Will's play book. If something upsets his... apple-cart, you... know about it and work through it before... pushing it aside and moving on. He can't hide it, but nor, once it's out of his system, does he allow it to linger, so...” Reaching across with her free hand, she pokes her finger somewhat forcefully in to my arm and laughs. “Suck it up and get with the damn program. We're on holiday, the weather's lovely, and everything's going to be fine.”

“Uh...” Unable to fault Jane's enthusiasm even though I can't quite bring myself to buy fully in to her reasoning, I laugh and meekly reply, “Yes, ma'am.”

Grinning, she lifts her arm from around my shoulders and ruffles my hair before getting to her feet and picking up the jug of – not icy enough – iced-tea. “That's what I like to hear. Now... Do you want anything from the kitchen while I fix this, or are you good?”

“Oh... I'm good. I mean, after that pep talk, how could I be anything else...”

“And, again, that's what I like to hear,” Jane murmurs sweetly as she swoops down and plants a kiss on the top of my head before, solely for Benji's benefit, sashaying over to the house. “So... Keep up the happy thoughts and I'll be back in a minute,” she adds over her shoulder as she walks through the door and disappears.

Fully expecting Benji at this point to chime in with a question about why exactly it is I'm needing to think happy thoughts, I grit my teeth in anticipation of having to come up with some halfway believable response for his inevitable query and glance across at him. To both my surprise and relief though, sucking his smoothie through a straw and, having lost the brief distraction of Jane wandering by, once again engrossed in his comic book, Benji seems supremely oblivious to my presence and, counting this as my first break for the morning, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes.

Jane, and if I'm feeling magnanimous when she returns I might even just have to share this with her, is predominantly right in all of her observations. Everything, despite how flat I'm currently feeling, really is fine. We're on holiday, both the weather and the house we're lucky enough to call our own for the next week is glorious, and, while I don't yet share her confidence that he'll be joining us by the pool any time soon, Will's fine, too. In fact, I doubt he's as... bothered... by the whole 'swimming and shorts' thing as I am. Sure, he was quite adamant in his request for me to... 'just leave well enough alone', but that was as far as things went. I blathered on about... 'how warm it was', and 'how inviting the pool looks', and 'how surely he had to be looking forward to going for a swim'. And then, for my 'cherry on top move', I blithely pulled the carefully purchased board shorts out of my bag and presented them to him with both a flourish and a – possibly far too bright – grin.

And Will...

…Politely thanked me for them before declaring that, although he was actually going to stay inside to read his book, he hoped I enjoyed my swim and looked forward to hearing my report on how... 'fucking wonderful'... it was later in the day.

And that was just that.

Stalemate. 

I'd made my, ill thought out yet meant with only the greatest of intentions, move and Will, who I'll admit still looked tired even though he was freshly showered and dressed, had smacked it down.

I know I may have come across as either pushy or insensitive. I also know that by lunchtime or after he's had a nap that Will most likely will have forgotten all about it, but...

I'm just annoyed with myself for having blundered straight in to what I know full well is a touchy subject. Let's face it, just because Will forced himself – all in the name of unleashing what he knew to be a fail-safe diversionary tactic – to allow me the honour of washing, both carefully and thoroughly, his back the night before last doesn't mean that he's now feeling all pumped and primed and ready to strut his near-naked self by the pool. He misses being able to swim whenever he felt like it and, I know this because he's told me, wishes that he didn't feel as self-conscious as he does and could just return to the pool without hesitation. But... He is self-conscious and the thought of having people, however cursorily, check him out or, worse, seeing the scars on his back, it just makes his skin crawl. Given that while the scars are certainly obvious, they're not as bad as he's firmly convinced himself they are, and as his body is one that he should be proud of, I wish that I could say that I can't understand his doubts, but, sadly, I do. To be looked at, and there are times – although thankfully they're few and far between – when I can't shake the feeling that this even stretches to me, reminds him of being made to feel like an object and, simply put, this is something he's quite dedicated to avoiding at all costs. I know this, yet...

…What do I do?

I do my best to push him into something he may well be far from ready for. I both know and understand his issues, I'm overly sensitive myself because of the whole Spencer thing and how I carried on at the gallery, and I... still did my best to impress my own version of what I think is right on him.

There's no help for it. I'm just an idiot.

One that absolutely should have known better.

Sighing, I open my eyes and, spotting a folded newspaper on the table, pull it towards me. Flattening it out, I glance at the headline without any great interest and, solely because I need something to do with myself while I wait for Jane to return, flip it open to a random page and start to read about how the latest drug-fuelled crime-wave to hit Honolulu is putting the local authorities under the pump. While it would be a blatant lie to say I actually... cared... about what I was reading, the paper nonetheless does the job of providing me with something mundane to focus on and I've just made it to the sports section when a fresh jug of iced-tea both materialises next to me and heralds Jane's return.

Looking up, my smile of greeting dies a a very quick death as I take in Jane's somewhat troubled looking expression and, frowning, gesture for her to take a seat. “Hey... You okay?” I query, quickly pouring her a fresh glass of the iced-tea as, dropping her sunglasses down on the table, she sinks down in to a chair and, with a small shake of her head, sighs. “Jane?”

“I met Will in the kitchen,” she murmurs, cupping her hands around her glass and gazing down at it. “He... I... I don't even know how to say it. Ethan, he...” Taking a deep breath, she lifts her head and gazes at me wide eyed. “He asked me to rub sunscreen in to his back,” she adds quietly, “and I... I should just be pleased that he's soon to prove me right by joining us outside, but I... I didn't, I... I never knew they were even there! And... And it was so clear that it, both asking me and... tolerating my touch... was taking it out of him, and...”

“Sunscreen,” I murmur blandly, hiding my surprise at this unexpected turn of events behind a forced smile. I'm pleased that he's going to join us, of course I am, but, and I don't even know why, for some reason I'm also a little taken aback by it. Not the fact that he charged Jane with the task of rubbing sunscreen in to his back, as that actually makes a reasonable degree of sense to me in that, if he's going to do this he may as well as do it properly by just... embracing... it rather than continuing to hide from it, but... Shit. I don't know, I really don't. Maybe it's because it was just about the last thing I expected Jane to come back and hit me with, but, I'm struggling here, I really am. “What a good idea,” I continue, smiling my fake smile and pushing blithely ahead with my – if you can't think of anything to say, just babble anyway – talking simply for the sake of talking. “What's more, given that I doubt even he knows when it last was his back saw sun, it's one I probably should have thought of myself. So... Good. I'm glad he had the brains to think of it himself.”

“That...” Shaking her head, Jane shoots me an annoyed look and, just in case I'm really as off with the fairies as I'm giving every indication of being and need to brought back to reality, reaches over and gives my arm a quick slap. “That's how you choose to reply to everything that I just told you?” she exclaims. “Hell! Did you even... hear... what I was telling you?”

“You were right in that, yes, Will is going to join us outside after all, and... I'm assuming because he wanted it done properly, he had you rub sunscreen on his back,” I mutter with a dismissive shrug as, despite not even really knowing why, I continue to play the disinterested act. “That was pretty much the upshot of it, wasn't it...”

“I'm not a mark, you know,” Jane retorts, giving my arm another slap, “and you can cut both the bullshit and the act. Look. I know... you know... about the scars, but...”

“I had to rub ointment in to them when we were staying in that little flat in Pigalle,” I interrupt, turning my head away from Jane and gazing, without really taking any of it in, over at the lush, tropical garden that leads up to the ten foot high fence. “He... He didn't like it back then either, but... even though he was too weak and ill to do anything about it, I... I still didn't like doing it. They... Needless to say they looked worse then...”

“I don't even want to imagine,” Jane murmurs softly as, having lost the urge to slap me for the time being, she places her hand on my upper arm. “Was it Spencer?”

“No.” I shake my head and dredge up a dry, mirthless laugh. “The type of scars that mother fucker was in to weren't of the... physical kind.”

“Oh. It... It doesn't...”

“They were done the night before I rescued him,” I continue flatly, talking over the top of Jane as though she'd never even opened her mouth as, the beauty of the garden not holding all that much thrall for me at the moment, I close my eyes. “I... I was probably sitting only a few metres away, sipping absinthe with Khavin, while...”

“You weren't to know,” Jane states, rubbing her hand up and down my arm in a soothing gesture, “and you certainly can't blame yourself. Ethan... Don't do this to yourself. It... It's not your fault. None of it is your fault.”

Sighing, I open my eyes and slump further down in my chair. “I know none of it's my fault,” I whisper, “but it... it just doesn't help, you know... Those scars, they bother him more than anything else, hell, they bother him so much that he doesn't even like me... seeing them... let alone touching them, and I... I just...”

“Hate them,” Jane interjects, shifting her chair closer to mine so that she can sling her arm around my shoulders. “You hate the scars, and whoever it was that put them there, and... that any of it even had to happen in the first place, and... And you hate the impotency of knowing there's not a single fucking thing you can do about any of it. You can't erase history, or make the scars go away, and you can't even get through to poor Will that... they're just a part of him now. Sure, they shouldn't be there, but they're nothing to feel ashamed of as they do nothing to detract from who he is, or... just how important he is to all of us...”

Quietly impressed at just how succinctly Jane managed to cover more or less everything in one rather breathless and heartfelt statement, I nod and, with a quick kiss to her cheek, lean in to her embrace. “You pretty much got it in one,” I murmur. “I hate that Will has to feel this way about himself, and I hate not being able to do anything about it. Letting you rub the sunscreen in would have taken some effort on his part, but it... We just need to look on the bright side in that it's a good sign. He's put enough thought in to it to both make his peace with letting you and Benji see them, and to realise that, as he doesn't want to get sunburnt, he had to seek help to make sure he was properly covered, so...” Lifting Jane's arm off my shoulders, I close my hand around hers and give it a squeeze. “Let's just take it, yeah...”

“Sounds good to me,” she replies, smiling as she turns her hand over and entwines her fingers with mine. “You know, while I'm sure you're fully aware of this already, Will, he really is amazing. While I'll admit to having been shocked by his back, when I think of everything that he's been through and how he's still here and so much an... imperative... part of our lives, I... I just can't help but admire him. He... He really is just amazing and I like to think that if I had even half his strength there wouldn't be anything that I couldn't overcome.”

“You and me both, actually,” I respond as, taking my sunglasses off and meeting Jane's eyes for the first time since she returned to the table, I flash her a smile that's as genuine as it is heartfelt. “For all the ups and downs, and the doubt that always seems to hit when you least expect it, we... We really are just lucky to have him.”

“Mmm... And one of us even more so than the others,” Jane grins as she pulls her hand away from mine and trails her fingers gently down the side of my face. “Now... I know this conversation hasn't been much fun for either of us, so... I'm just going to get this out of my system before we can move on and, if need be, pretend it never happened.” Pausing, she sits up straight and, by placing her hands on my shoulders, pulls me around so that we're directly facing each other. “Just... You probably don't need to hear this from me,” she states, her expression solemn as, perhaps unconsciously, she digs her nails into my shoulders, “but don't ever take him for granted, and... make sure that he always knows how... important he is to you, and... how much you love and need him. I...” Releasing her grip on my shoulders, Jane sits back and half turns away in an attempt to hide the tears that are suddenly pooling in her eyes. “Speaking from experience here, it mightn't change anything, but he... he still deserves to know. Will deserves to know how much he means to you and... and if I had my time over again I... I'd...”

“I'm sure Trevor knew,” I murmur, reaching across the table and resting my hand down on hers as, blinking back tears, she indulges in my earlier trick of gazing at nothing in particular in the garden. “Jane... He would have known how you felt about him, and...”

“Yeah, yeah. I know there's not a damn thing I could have done,” she mutters, rubbing her free hand over her eyes. “Like you and what happened to Will though, both knowing and accepting this doesn't always help, and I just... regret... not having made more of our time together. I... Maybe he knew and... uh... maybe he didn't, but it... It's in the past now, and it's because I'll never know whether he knew how I felt about him or not that I don't want anyone else to ever make the same stupid mistake, so...” Sniffing, she gazes at me through eyes bright with unshed tears. “Just promise me you'll never take Will for granted, that... That's all I ask...”

“Trust me. I don't, and doubt I ever will, take him for granted,” I state both quickly and without even having to stop and think about how exactly to reply. “He, I... I'm not, I... can't... go in to everything he means to me, but you have my word that I'll never forget just how lucky I am to have him in my life, or that I'll ever take him for granted.”

“And it's not as though I could ask for any more than that,” Jane replies as, her expression lighting up with a smile, she takes a sip of her iced-tea. “Oh! One last thing before we can revert to making small talk about the weather or just where it is we might like to go for dinner tonight, I've been in contact with Rose, you know, Trevor's second cousin from the cafeteria, and she told me that his family are holding a memorial for him next week in Boston before releasing his ashes in to the harbour and that, as they know I missed the funeral, they really hoped that I'd be able to join them.”

“And...?” I prompt, going so far as to actually cross my fingers under the table in the hope of Jane having seen the sense of taking up the opportunity to finally say goodbye to her lover in a way that, with any luck, she'll be able to draw some peace from. “We've got the fortnight off, so...”

“So of course I'm going,” she finishes, glancing across the pool at Benji. “When I mentioned it to Benji he offered to... come and hold my hand and, seeing no reason to knock him back, he's going to come to Boston with me.”

“You do of course know that, if you wanted us to, and I know I speak for Will here as well, that we'd...”

“Of course I do,” Jane interrupts as, smiling, she turns back to face me. “Thank you, and I really do mean that, but it's okay. I'll take Benji for backup and that'll leave you two on your own for a change. My friend not coming back until next month, you could even stay here for another week if you wanted to.”

“While it's hard to say no to all of this,” I reply, gesturing around the pool area, “I think the idea at the moment is to just spend the second week back in D.C.. The novelty of home ownership not yet having worn off for Will, I think he'd quite like to do a few things around the house, and...”

“You're just happy to go wherever he goes...”

“Something like that.” Grinning, I stretch my arms above my head and, satisfied that we've covered everything of a pressing nature for the time being, am just contemplating taking my shirt off and going for a swim when, both silently and with his head lowered, Will walks out of the house and comes to a stop by the edge of the pool. Dressed only in the black board shorts I'd bought for him and with a towel draped around his neck like a scarf, his entire demeanour screams of uncertainty and for a second or two my only thought is one of... blame.

This, his discomfort, is my fault. I did this to him. Why didn't I keep my stupid mouth shut and just let him do things in both his own way and in his own time.

“You know, while I'm hardly ever going to say this to him, he looks good,” Jane whispers, kicking me under the table as she swivels around and greets Will with a cheery wave. “Hey! I'm glad you decided to join us.”

“Yeah, well...” Lifting his head, Will flashes Jane a hesitant smile before shrugging and glancing down at the pool. “Just... What's going on out here anyway, huh? The sun is shining, the pool is...”

“Wet?” Benji offers helpfully as, both lowering his comic and showing no sign whatsoever of even noticing his back despite the fact he's looking straight at it, he glances over at Will and flashes him a grin.

“Wet?” Will echoes, looking over his shoulder at Benji and pulling a face. “That, I suppose, is one way of putting it. I mean, I'd been going to go with... glistening... myself, but, okay, fine... The pool is... wet.”

“I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking,” Benji retorts, his grin slipping slightly as he looks up and fleetingly fixes his gaze on Will's back. To his credit though, although it's pretty obvious from where Jane and I are sitting that the sight of it shocked him, he quickly covers his surprise by increasing the wattage of his grin and shrugging. “Wet. There you go, people. The pool is... wet.”

“Wet and... strangely empty,” Will states, his expression giving nothing away as to whether he spotted Benji's reaction to the scars on his back or not as he gestures over the water at us. “What gives, huh? Why is everyone just sitting around when they could be in the pool?”

“Because... It might be cold?” Benji offers with a shrug as, his attention caught now, he places the comic he'd been reading back on the stack, and sits up. “Because... perhaps we've all just been waiting for a guinea pig to come along and test it out for us?”

“Is that what I am, a... guinea pig?” Will mutters with a laugh as, having successfully made it over the first hurdle of letting everyone see his back, he starts to relax and just go with the flow. “I've been called a lot of things in my time, but... A guinea pig? Congratulations, Benji, that really is a first.”

Standing up, I quickly take off my shirt and place it down on the chair before walking over to the pool. “Here. Let me. As team leader I'll...”

“Take one for the team?” Jane murmurs as she gets up and, after dropping her sarong to the ground, joins me by the edge of the pool. “My hero,” she adds facetiously, fixing Benji with a look that I'm sure he's meant to translate as 'and you can stop trying to look for my tattoo' before glancing over at Will and smiling. “What do you say, Will, do we just let our great team leader here check out the water for us first?”

“Seeing as he so kindly offered,” Will replies with a nod as, toying with the edge of it, he hesitates over removing the towel from around his neck, “I... I wouldn't say no to letting him go first.”

“Wimps! The lot of you, you're all wimps!” Rolling my eyes in a display of mock exasperation, I step on to the first of the pool's steps and, as the beautifully warm water laps my ankles, laugh. “There, there, children. I confirm that the water is far from cold and that...”

“You're taking too long,” Jane interjects as she runs up to the deep end and just jumps straight in. Surfacing, she laughs merrily and, although it never had any hope of reaching me, splashes water in my direction. “Come on, Will, Benji... It's actually lovely and I really do think you need to experience it for yourselves...”

Pouting, I mutter, “Well, clearly I'm not needed any more,” under my breath and, after walking down the steps, make my way, still on feet, across the pool to position myself directly below Will as he continues to stand, looking indecisive, by the edge. “Will?” The water level reaching halfway up my chest, I hold my arms out to him and smile encouragingly in the hope of him just jumping in to join me. “Jane wasn't lying. It really is...”

“Of course you're still needed,” he murmurs, cutting me off as, locking his gaze on mine, he shrugs off his towel and lowers himself down so that he's sitting on the pool's edge with his legs in the water. “Ethan, I... I'm sorry about earlier...”

Shaking my head, I take Will's hands in mine and, once I can see that he's ready, gently pull him into the pool. “In that case, that makes two of us,” I state, loving both how his face instantly lights up at the almost forgotten sensation of being in so much water and how, without even bothering to look around to see what the others are doing, he drapes his arms over my shoulders and presses against me. “I shouldn't have pushed, and I'm...”

“Talking too much,” Will whispers, resting his forehead against mine for a couple of seconds before capturing my lips with his and kissing me passionately. “Just... Let it go,” he adds softly as, it finally getting too much for him, Benji strips his t-shirt off and walks up to the deep end. “We all need a... push... every now and again, and I'm just thankful to you for knowing when it is that I need it.”

“But... I still shouldn't have...”

“But you did, and I'm here, and I...” Trailing off as a loud shriek coming from the deep end tells us that Benji disagrees with our collective opinion regarding the warmth of the pool, Will laughs and locks his arms around the back of my neck. “I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be, can you?”

“Oddly enough,” I murmur, turning a deaf ear to Benji's whining and Jane's adamant assertions that he needs to, and I quote, 'harden the fuck up', as I slide my arms around Will's waist and hug him to me, “no... No I can't.”

~ end ~


End file.
